A Life in Moments
by Mnemosyne77
Summary: Part 2 of the 'Life in Moments' Trilogy and sequel to 'A Lion and a Unicorn'. Story told in oneshots, drabbles and longer story arcs across multiple time lines. Contents list is in chapter 101. Believe me, you'll need it.
1. Chapter 1

**Domestic bliss**

Dawn rose over the Kingdom of Camelot to streets washed clean with rain. The cloudburst had begun nearly a week before; a summer downpour that did not end. Thirsty crops burst into life when the first drops fell and children ran into the warm shower and came home hours later and soaked to the very bone.

In his chambers near the Crown Prince's suite, the Prince's Advisor cracked open an eyelid and smiled lazily at the sheet of water running down his windows. Arthur was away and it would be good day to lie in bed. If only such things were possible.

He was lying on his stomach in the large soft bed, wondering not for the first time how he had gained so many wondrous things in the last year.

He felt a light brush against his back and two hands slide themselves around his waist. A head rested on his shoulder blade briefly before he felt light kisses down his spine.

"I've been waiting for you to wake up," said a teasing voice and he smiled again, more widely this time.

"I'm too lazy to move," he mumbled into his pillow.

She didn't say anything, just slid her hands up to his chest, rested her head back on his shoulder and gave a small sigh.

His eyes fluttered shut again and he laid there for a glorious moment; just enjoying the soft bed, the calming chatter of the rain, and the feel of Morgana's arms around him.

"Malcolm's going to come flying through that door any minute now, isn't he?" he muttered.

"Ah um," confirmed Morgana.

"Ergh," he rolled over, lifting the raven-haired woman up slightly and depositing her head on his chest instead. His arms twined round her waist. He looked up at the wall of bookcases that lined his main room.

Even after all this time, it still felt strange to have his own chambers. He had been crammed into such small spaces his entire life. To suddenly have the use of three rooms was an unusual feeling - as though he'd accidentally stepped into someone else's life and no one had yet asked him to leave.

Having a personal servant was also part of his role as advisor, although on mornings like this Merlin could have done very well with not having one bursting through his door with this breakfast.

"I'd better get up then, I suppose," he said, resignedly. He closed his eyes again, his face burrowing into her hair.

"I have to get up right now," he whispered, sleepily.

"This minute," she agreed.

"Any second now," he said.

"Do you have much to do today?"

He smiled wryly.

"Yes, surprisingly. Arthur left me a list of things to do a mile long. Gauis needs help with some preparations for his patients and I have to get round to see my patients as well. Oh, and Gaius has started leaping out at me and asking random questions about anatomy. If I don't answer them correctly, he hits me over the head. So I need to do some study."

He laughed softly and she smiled at him; one of her rare bright smiles. He put his hand to her face and caressed her cheek, before leaning in and kissing her gently. One hand picked up the single black curl that dangled above her white satin nightgown and rolled it around his finger.

"You have the most beautiful hair," he whispered and then kissed her again.

"My Lord, I have your... oh, sorry My Lord."

It was Malcolm, the small blonde boy now a year older but still as tiny as ever. He'd raced into the room with Merlin's breakfast without knocking and was now standing awkwardly with the tray in the centre of the room.

"My... My Lord..." he stuttered.

"It's alright, Malcolm, just put the tray on the table and then see to my bath."

"Yes My Lord... um..."

"No, Malcom, the Lady Morgana will be returning to her own quarters to bathe and dress."

"Very well, My Lord."

"And Malcolm, I'm not a Lord."

"Of course, My Lord. Sorry, My Lord."

Malcolm thumped his breakfast down on the table with a crash and then ran out of the room, tripping over his own feet as he did so but righting himself at the last minute so he didn't fall.

Morgana put her head on Merlin's shoulder to stop herself laughing.

"Oh, that boy's a walking disaster area," she said and then teasingly added, "he reminds me of someone I know."

"I'll show you a walking disaster area," grinned Merlin and he rolled her over and dug his fingers into her ribs; her most ticklish spot.

"Oh no, Merlin, don't. Don't. Ah! Stop!" She couldn't help herself shrieking and wondered with some embarrassment what Malcolm in the other room thought they were doing.

"Stop? Alright, I'll stop. When you repeat after me: 'Merlin is not a walking disaster area. Merlin is a God'."

"Merlin, hahahaha, oh, Merlin is a total walking disaster area and it's a constant surprise when he stays on his feet."

"What? Oh, I'll get you for that."

And he dug his fingers in deeper, causing her to shriek louder until Malcolm finally had the courage to come and tell him that his bath was ready.

There was, he thought later with a smile, no better start to any day.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Bet**

Even if he hadn't have been there to see the scene, Sir Yvain could have pictured it. He may still be very young, his voice just breaking, his beard bursting out in fits and starts like yellow bushes on his chin, but he already knew the drunken chaos that could ensue when a tournament was done and the Court allowed themselves to celebrate.

The feasting itself was winding down but the drinking was increasing in compensation. Knights roamed the Great Hall of Camelot, slapping each other on the shoulders and sharing ribald stories. Some of the ladies of the Court were starting to disappear to their beds; the more bawdy entertainment of the late evening too much for their sensibilities.

Some of the more drunken nobles had begun ogling and even groping the serving staff, trying to see which of the women would be open to sharing their beds that night. And many of the Knights' and Lords' open admiration for the stunning beauty of the Lady Morgana was beginning to become embarrassing.

He had been in Cenred's Kingdom a month before for the tourney there and had seen debauchery the likes of which would never have been tolerated on his father's estates. Camelot was generally more refined but there were many Knights from bordering estates gathered and things were far wilder than Yvain suspected Uther would have liked.

He glanced over to the throne where the King sat, quietly enjoying a drink with some of his closest allies. He was laughing and joking but his eyes flickered appraisingly to the dissolution unfolding before him. Yvain wondered how long it would be before some of the worst-behaved disappeared to the cells.

The young Knight turned to look at Prince Arthur standing beside him. He had gravitated to him naturally. The man seemed to embody the qualities his father had told him were essential for a Knight. Although he was enjoying a flagon with Sir Leon, another refined man, he was not out of control like so many others here.

"Oh no, there he goes," noted Arthur with a smirk.

"Sire, do you really think this is something we should tolerate? She is practically your sister."

"This has nothing to do with Morgana, Leon," replied Arthur, "this is everything to do with Mellum. He needs to be taught a lesson in humility."

Yvain tried to follow the conversation. He'd obviously missed something important while he'd been surveying the room. Of course, being much younger than most of the other Knights and having been rather isolated while growing up, a lot about the world confused him.

His eyes alighted on the Prince's Advisor, standing next to a dark-skinned serving girl to whom he was talking animatedly. Here was a true Camelot mystery, at least to his mind. Advisors were usually lower-ranked nobleman; educated because their elder brothers had been given the investment in the training needed to attain Knighthood. The equipment and training for the Knighthood was expensive and not all members of large families could be accommodated.

Yet here was a man he had discovered was a commoner; a peasant farmer for some reason made freeman. If that wasn't strange enough, the Knights respected him and listened to him. He was a terrible swordsman, a woeful hunter, an inadequate tracker, and a clumsy fool. Yet, when he spoke, the Knights listened. Arthur listened.

In his very first week in Camelot, he had made his way to the training grounds to practice for the tourney and found some Knights abusing a local peasant for some infraction. He'd thought their behaviour heavy-handed but had not intervened. He was their peasant and it was their duty to discipline him as they pleased.

"Oi, that's enough."

He'd looked around and seen a roughly-dressed man with dark, almost black, hair, enormous ears, and startlingly pale skin, standing by the yard.

"You're supposed to be Knights of Camelot," he continued, "behave like it."

To his astonishment, the Knights had let the boy go and looked ashamed.

"Sorry, Merlin," said one he now knew as Sir Peregrine.

The one they called Merlin had just nodded and moved on, leaving the Knights to avoid each other's glances and get on with their training without saying a word. It was obvious that Merlin's rebuke had shamed them and yet Yvain could not understand why.

Since then, he'd watched the young man, continually astonished at the respect and deference shown towards him. It was a mystery he was determined to unravel.

A laugh by his side drew his attention back to the Prince, who was gazing at the aforementioned Sir Mellum with some amusement. If Mellum was going to be humiliated, Yvain wanted to see it. Mellum did not, in Yvain's opinion, embody the virtues required of a Knight.

"So, what do you think is the best?" asked Arthur with a laugh. "Is it when she rejects their advances or is it when they find out who they've been rejected for?"

"I'm sorry, Sire, I'm afraid I missed a part of the conversation," said Yvain, deciding to be honest.

Leon looked at him and smiled slightly.

"Arthur has bet Mellum a sizeable amount that the Lady Morgana will reject any advances he makes to her. Naturally, he took the bet."

"Naturally," added Arthur, "seeing as he had spent a good hour boasting of his prowess with women."

"And it's when they find out who they've been rejected for," said Leon, "just to answer your question."

Arthur grinned.

"I agree."

Yvain joined them in watching Mellum as he approached the Lady and addressed her.

"Who will he be rejected for?" he asked, curiously.

"We don't say," said Arthur.

Leon just smiled.

"That's a secret, boy. So naturally everybody knows."

Yvain was just about to admit that he didn't, in fact, know when the Lady Morgana reacted to Mellum's proposition by glaring imperiously at him before sweeping on by without deigning to speak.

Mellum responded to her disdain with a rather coarse gesture that must have been accompanied by an even coarser suggestion. To Yvain's astonishment, and if he were honest, amusement, the Lady turned on her heel, walked back toward him and punched him in the nose. Not slapped. Punched.

"Ooh," said Arthur, "that was even better than I expected. My father will be furious."

"With Mellum or with her," asked Yvain. He was still learning what was and wasn't acceptable in Camelot. In his father's court, a Lady behaving in such a _masculine_ way would have been disciplined, despite the provocation. Here, he was starting to suspect, things may be different.

"With Mell..." began Arthur and then stopped as the Lady swept across the room to his Advisor, took his arm in hers and began to leave the room.

"Oh no, with both of them," he corrected himself.

The Lady Morgana and Merlin left through the main doors in full sight of everyone.

"Definitely both of them."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N So, I probably should have mentioned, for those people following the email alert links that these are all one-shots and drabbles set in 'A Lion and a Unicorn' universe. The first is set about a year after the end of the story, but I will wander backward and forward in time around that period. Basically, such a large story leaves a lot of little ideas in their wake and I don't think all of them lend themselves to a new multi-chapter story. Some of them were lying around my computer going nowhere and others I just need to write down. It may turn out that they all end up telling a larger story. Or maybe not.**

* * *

**A wander through the past**

There is a town, nestled safely in a deep green valley with fields of gold stretching out toward the horizon and clear fresh water bubbling up through its wells.

In that town, there is a castle, tall and proud with spires of white extending up into the heavens.

In that castle, there is a set of chambers, lush and ornate, richly-furnished with wardrobes full of the finest dresses and drawers flowing with the finest jewels.

In those chambers, in one of those drawers, tucked safely away with precious ornaments and adornments of great value, there is a small folded piece of paper with a stem of dried lavender tied around it.

In that town, in that castle, in those chambers, in that drawer, there is something that has no price and is therefore priceless.

One day, in that town, inside that castle, within those chambers, a lady of great beauty with extraordinary burnished black hair and green-grey eyes, opens that drawer and sits upon the bed to read.

She sits there in silence for several minutes and then her eyes sweep the bejewelled beauty of the room, the window that shows the spires of the castle and the town, and she thinks that all the wealth and splendour on display is nothing compared to the simple beauty of what she has just read.

This is what that note said.

* * *

"When I am happy, I think of you and my happiness is justified

When I am sad, I think of you and I am uplifted

When I am angry, I think of you and my battles seem worthwhile

Where there is a wrong in the world, I right it for you

Where there is goodness in the world, I am glad for you

When the world is cold or violent, I think of your passion and grace and I know this world is a better place because you are in it.

When I feel the world is ugly, I think of your beauty. A beauty as luminescent as a moon-drenched night. Your skin as flawless as the pure unicorn, your hair like waves of gleaming ebony, your eyes green and grey like a stormy day, full of passion and potential.

The world is beautiful because you give it beauty, warm because you are warm, just because you insist on justice, loving because you are loved.

I know that you can never look my way. I know my love is futile.

But when the heartless ravage that is time has done its work and all that is now has been and gone, all that I have endured will have been worth it. Because of you.

All my heart and all my soul. For you.

In anonymity,

Your humble admirer.


	4. Chapter 4

**A detour through the ridiculous**

"They're kittens," said Morgana, in astonishment.

"They're kittens," confirmed Gwen, matter-of-factly.

"How did they get in here?" asked Morgana.

It was late afternoon and the two women were standing in front of the wardrobe in Morgana's dressing room, mouths open in amazement at the cat suckling tiny kittens underneath the Lady's most expensive and elaborate dresses.

The lean jet-black feline had given birth to three adorable animals: two ebony like their mother and one grey with faint black stripes. The mother had pulled down Morgana's green woollen dress and torn it into shreds to make her bed.

Gwen looked at Morgana's stunned expression that so closely mirrored her own and then the two started laughing.

"They're kittens!"

"Oh dear, My Lady, what are we going to do? We have to call a guard to get them out of here."

"No."

Gwen looked at her mistress, who was suddenly serious.

"If we tell the guards, they'll put them in a bag and drown them in the river. We need to find her a new home where she and her babies will be safe."

Gwen looked at her and opened her mouth.

"No, we can't give them to Merlin," said Morgana, firmly pre-empting her handmaiden's suggestion, "he already has five stray cats he's caring for, those two dogs he's hoping Arthur won't notice are kennelled with his hunting hounds, and that rabbit he stashed in his bag to stop Arthur from shooting it. And that doesn't include the animals he left with Gaius when he moved into his own chambers."

Gwen laughed softly. "He does have a soft spot for helpless creatures, doesn't he?"

"He does indeed. I'm already waking up with kittens stuck in my hair. I'm not adding three more."

Gwen bent down and pushed one of the dresses out of the way.

"Hello, darling," she said, soothingly "how are you?"

The cat hissed at her, its yellow eyes brightening with fear, and it bolted out of the wardrobe, through the bedroom, out of the main door into the hallway leaving its stunned kittens behind.

"This is going to take some thinking," noted Morgana.

* * *

"You'll have to catch them together," said Gaius, definitely, "if you take the kittens from their mother now they'll die."

Gwen had gone to see the Physician with the cat crisis, figuring he was the closest thing in Camelot to an animal doctor.

"So, if we don't want them to die, we have to get them at the same time?" asked Gwen, hoping she had misunderstood. They hadn't even been able to _talk_ to the mother without it bolting. "But that may be impossible; she ran off and left them."

"A cat would never abandon its kittens, Gwen," said Gaius kindly "you frightened her but she will be back very shortly. I just hope she doesn't move them now they've been discovered."

"I don't know, Gaius. Morgana has one of her determined expressions, like this is a quest or something. She's decided she's going to save these kittens no matter what. I can tell. It might have been better if the mother hid them someplace else."

* * *

"Is it possible you're being a bit... um... melodramatic, Gwen" asked Arthur tentatively between bites of chicken that night, "I mean, we're talking about kittens, not Druid refugees."

Gwen just smiled wryly and took a sip of her wine.

"Big or small, you know what Morgana's like when she thinks things should be a certain way. Kittens or Kingdoms, it's all the same."

"Lucky Merlin," noted Arthur sardonically and then laughed. "They're just kittens, Gwen, it'll be fine. Worst case scenario, Merlin adopts even more stray animals. And if she gets too carried away, he'll rein her in. You know he's the one person who can."

"True," acknowledged Gwen, "now if he can just convince your father to recognise our engagement, he will be Camelot's true miracle worker."

"True," said Arthur, mimicking her tone. Then he gave her an expression she was almost sure was a leer. "Then maybe you wouldn't have to go all the way back to the Lower Town after our meal."

"Not until we're married, Arthur," she said reprovingly, although she was secretly pleased at the intimation, "this was your plan, after all."

"Merlin's plan," corrected Arthur. "Remember. It was _bloody Merlin's_ _plan_. And if I ever find out he was motivated by anything other than our interests, I will kill him."

"No you won't, you love him."

"Hate him."

"Eat your dinner. And anyway, I'm sleeping in Morgana's chambers tonight. She needs me in the morning to get her ready for the reception."

"Oh, Olaf and Vivian," groaned Arthur.

"More chicken with your destiny, Arthur?" asked Gwen and then bubbled with laughter at his expression.

* * *

"Gwen, I'm so glad you're here," exclaimed Morgana, as she ran into her maid's sleeping room and sat down beside her small low bed. Gwen smiled in sleepy confusion and sat up. It was just dawn and she would have had to have woken soon anyway.

"Yes, My Lady?"

"The cat is back and is suckling the kittens. I have a box inside my dressing room and I've found a family in the Lower Town that is willing to take care of them."

"Really?" asked Gwen, trying to envision Morgana walking through the Lower Town asking people to take kittens.

"Well, Merlin found them," she conceded. "Apparently Tom the Baker needs a good ratter, or at least that's what he says. He's probably taking them because Cecily still lives in hope. But the point is that between you and me we should be able to catch the cats and put them in the box."

"If you say so, My Lady," agreed Gwen, cautiously. She had seen how fast the animal could move and was somewhat sceptical but was also, as usual, willing to serve.

"Right then," said Morgana, with her hand on the door, "I fed her so I think she trusts me a bit. Let's go."

"Can I at least change out of my nightgown?" asked Gwen.

"Oh, of course," Morgana replied, but Gwen thought she looked a bit put out by the delay.

While she was changing, Morgana closed the door to the hallway so the cat could not escape and pulled and latched the windows.

Once Gwen was appropriately attired, the two women snuck slowly through the bedroom into the dressing room and up to the wardrobe door. Morgana gestured to her and her maid opened the wardrobe slowly. Inside, the cat looked at them with appraising intelligent eyes, while the three kittens fed.

Gwen shuddered at the sight of the yellow orbs.

"Gwen," Morgana reproached her; "you're not superstitious, are you?"

"I'm sorry, my Lady, I usually don't put stock in such things... but those yellow eyes and black fur... maybe people say they're evil for a reason."

"Don't be ridiculous," chided Morgana angrily, "it's just a normal cat with kittens that it loves like any other mother."

"Of course, My Lady." Gwen took a deep breath to reassure herself and reached down to grab the cat.

After that, everything got a little silly.

* * *

"Where is it, where did it go?" yelled Morgana as the cat dashed from the ledge, under the bed and disappeared.

"It's behind the curtains, My Lady," said Gwen. They crowded around the curtain and pulled it aside, only to have a cat blur past them and through the dressing room into Gwen's room.

A loud _crash_ and _splash_ signalled that the animal had knocked over the basin Gwen used to wash her face. It howled and pelted back through into the bedroom, scooting along the top of Morgana's desk, trying to hide in the fireplace, and then pelting toward the bookcase.

It stayed there in the corner, desperately trying to climb the sheer walls.

"We have her, My Lady, she's trapped."

"Fine, Gwen, let's grab her and put her in the box."

The two women rounded the bookcase and stood there in mutual astonishment.

The cat had gone.

* * *

"I'm telling you Arthur," said Morgana, forcefully. She was beginning to get annoyed with him, "the cat was there and then it _disappeared._"

They stood in the Throne Room preparing to receive Olaf and his insufferably-rude daughter. Morgana had been looking forward to it, particularly as she didn't know whether Vivian's love spell had been broken yet. Merlin was hoping that it would just wear off but the thought of seeing Arthur fend off the Lady's advances... well, a girl could dream...

"It disappeared?" said Arthur, his tone dripping with disdain.

"You can ask Gwen, she was there too. Thank the Lord. Otherwise I'd be questioning my sanity."

"Not your sanity, Morgana," responded Arthur, soothingly, "just your sense. It obviously ducked behind the bookcase and got around you."

"And I'm telling you, Arthur, Gwen and I searched all three rooms and there is no cat. She has kittens. Don't you think she would have gone back to them?"

"Well, she was obviously waiting for you to leave before she left her hiding place. She'll be back with them now."

"It was completely bizarre. I got chills up my spine. I just can't help thinking..."

"What?"

"She's a _black_ cat, Arthur."

"Oh, don't tell me you believe in that rubbish, Morgana. Merlin has told me all that stuff about mediums and animals is ridiculous."

"Well, if you were there you'd be just as freaked out as Gwen and I are."

"I tell you what," he said soothingly, if not a bit condescendingly. "after we're finished welcoming the rudest woman in Albion, Merlin and I will help you search your chambers and see if we can find her."

Morgana looked at him in alarm. "No, don't tell Merlin. He'll insist on staying with me tonight if he thinks I'm frightened and, with Olaf here, we've been told to sleep in our respective chambers. Olaf's so strict; Uther doesn't want him to know about our... relationship.

Besides," she added, getting to the real reason, "he'll think I'm being ridiculous."

"Morgana, _I _think you're being ridiculous, but ok."

* * *

"See, Arthur, no cat."

Morgana stood, hands on hips in the centre of the room. She and Arthur had spent a good half hour searching the three rooms in every nook, cranny, drawer and dresser. They'd also pulled out the bookcase to check behind it and inspected the wood for any holes that an animal could hide in.

"It's obvious." said Arthur, after a short pause to gather his thoughts. "A servant's come in today and the cat has run out to escape. I mean, isn't that how the cat got into your rooms in the first place?"

Morgana made as if to argue and then sighed.

"I hope you're right. I just have this... feeling... that it's still here."

"Morgana, I can't believe you're buying into this superstitious rubbish. What are you saying? That the cat escaped by magic? That it turned itself invisible? Don't let my father hear you talking like that."

"You're right, of course. Well, I'd better get these kittens to Gaius. Maybe he can find a way to care for them while we wait for the mother to come back."

Arthur nodded and turned to leave.

"Thank you, Arthur," she called after him. And then she looked around and shivered. Freaky, creepy cat.

* * *

"Meow."

Morgana's eyes flew open to take in the darkened room. She looked out the window to see the moon still rising in the sky. She hadn't been asleep that long, then. With all she'd had to drink, it had felt like longer.

After her experience with the disappearing cat, she'd had far more wine than usual at the dinner to welcome Olaf and Vivian. Gwen had been tending to her and the two girls had gossiped quietly about the strange incident. Gwen had tried to explain what had happened to one of the kitchen girls who had also not believed her and both women were feeling remarkably frustrated about everyone's scepticism.

"Are you telling me you think a magical cat _transported itself_ somewhere else to escape being captured?" trilled Vivian. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"Thank you for your opinion, Lady Vivian," said Morgana, calmly, "but I wasn't aware you had been invited to take part in this conversation. By the way, I've been meaning to ask. Been caught half-naked with a man in your bedroom lately?"

"No," the lady said sweetly, "met any that would want to be half-naked in your bedroom yet?"

Morgana had just smiled tightly and turned back to Gwen. Now awake and apparently imagining phantom cat cries she rolled over and punched her Vivian-shaped pillow. The woman was much more fun when enchanted.

"Meow."

Morgana sat bolt upright. She was sure she had not imagined that.

Her eyes flashed gold and all the candles lit themselves. She looked around the room but could see nothing and then mentally kicked herself for letting Gwen return to her own home.

She got out of her bed, the long nightgown trailing along the floor, and began once again to search the room. This time she was able to use magic to lift up furniture and move books. Every corner searched, she looked back toward the bookcase. That was where the cat had last been seen. She walked over and pulled the case out from the wall, removing all the books and examining both sides of it for holes.

"I can't believe this," she muttered, "if this cat was here it would have bolted the minute I moved the bookcase. There's no cat. There's no cat."

She climbed back into bed, pulling the covers right up to her chin and taking a few deep breaths.

"There is no cat in these chambers," she said to herself, "there is no cat in these chambers."

She closed her eyes and tried to will herself to sleep.

"Meow."

She sat up and lit the candles again and... nothing. She lay back down.

"There is no cat in these chambers. There is no cat in these chambers."

"Meow... meow... meeeooowwww."

This time, Morgana's feet hit the floor with a thump and the candles lit almost instantly as she followed the howls into her dressing room. Seeing nothing, she turned to go back to her bedroom nearly stepping in a puddle of cat urine.

_I'm going insane,_ she thought, _I've searched these quarters. Gwen helped me. Arthur helped me. There is no cat here. My mind is going. I'm seeing things. I'm hearing things. I'm..._

"Meow," she heard. Thought she heard. Could have sworn she heard.

As she stood there, a black blur flew out of Gwen's room and shot through into the bedroom. Morgana ran after it, watching it scoot toward the bookcase and...

"Oh Gods," she cried. And she ran.

* * *

"Merlin!" she cried, bursting into his chambers, still dressed only in her nightgown. As she'd hoped, he was still up studying. His tendency to spend the small amount of time they had for each other prowling around his library reading till all hours was the main source of most of their arguments. On this occasion she was grateful.

"Morgana," he exclaimed, concerned, and stood up, moving toward her.

She grabbed his hands, hysterically.

"Merlin... Merlin, my rooms are being haunted by an evil, fecund, urinating, magical, disappearing cat."

"Um... ok," he said.

* * *

"Aelfylce aelwiht aberan," Merlin incanted as soon as he walked through the door.

"If magic's been used here, we'll see it," he explained.

"What about my magic? I used it to light the room and help with the search."

Merlin smiled, "I specified magic used by an enemy or strange creature," he clarified and stroked her hand gently. "It'll be alright. I've defeated griffins and Questing Beasts. I think I can handle one cat."

She smiled back slightly; as usual both comforted and annoyed about his greater knowledge and mastery of magic.

He looked around and nodded. "No evidence of magic. It's probably just an ordinary black cat hiding somewhere in your room. Let's check."

And once again Morgana found herself searching the room from top to bottom, this time accompanied by the clumsiest man in the Kingdom, who kept picking up items with his magic - items such as her favourite vase - and then getting distracted and dropping them, tripping over table legs, and, once, his own feet.

"No cat," he declared and she took a deep breath and nodded.

_Madness then_, she thought, _fantastic._

"Come on," he said, seeing her expression, "I know I'm not supposed to be here but I'll lay down with you until you fall asleep."

She just nodded and they climbed into her bed; her snuggling into him and feeling the calmness that always enveloped her when he was near.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt his breathing even out as he drifted off to sleep.

Until...

"Meow."

Their eyes snapped open in shock.

"So, my chambers then?" he offered.

"Definitely," she agreed and they both pounded down the hallway toward his room, passing an amused and bemused Vivian on their way.

* * *

**A/N So, substitute my external laundry for Morgana's dressing room, my unit for her bedroom, my neighbour for Gwen, and my workmates for Arthur and _this actually happened to me_. No magic, of course, and I worked out the beast's super secret hiding place in the end, but it was still pretty bloody freaky at the time. Just a shame I don't have a Merlin, hey? *sigh***


	5. Chapter 5

**Romantics of a different kind**

A comforting gloom settled over the room as the sun finally succumbed to the overcast sky of a winter afternoon.

Merlin lay back on the down-filled pillows, one hand flung behind his head and the other wrapped around her naked waist. Her head was over his heart; her auburn hair flowing across his chest. She looked up at him and a small smile creased her face.

He smiled back; his blue eyes meeting her large hazel ones. Then he paused, as though gaining the nerve to speak.

"Whatever you said to Morgana must have been... powerful," he noted, carefully, "she seems to be... helping... us lately. What did you tell her?"

"Nothing but the truth," she answered truthfully.

"Did you use your gift?" he asked, "did you tell her what you see?"

"Yes."

"It must be potent," he noted, tentatively, "being able to know people that completely so soon."

"True," she conceded, "but it doesn't just give me power over them. It gives them power over me. To meet somebody and see true beauty, or truth, or nobility... it is... intoxicating.

His lips tautened slightly but then relaxed again. It was nothing he had not already realised. He grinned suddenly and relaxed further into the bed.

"You're such an artist," he laughed, "travelling from Kingdom to Kingdom; falling in love so often and so completely."

"I do love you, you know?" she said, lifting her head from his chest and supporting it on one hand so she could look him in the eye, "what I see in you; it's... incredible. I just... I don't think I could ever love just one person. I'm not made or raised that way."

"I..." he started and then stopped. She had her other hand on his chest and could feel the tension flow through him.

"I know," she helped him, softly, "I know _you_, remember. You are one of the special ones. You will love only one woman in your life. With such a short time together, I would be... angry at myself... if I thought that was me."

He relaxed again.

"What do you see, when you look at us?" he asked. It was a question he'd been wanting to ask since he met her. "What do you see when you look at me?"

"With you, I see your magic, your bravery, your kindness."

"And Arthur?"

"Arthur. I see a man who's learning that his father's way is not the only way. I see someone trying to forge his own path but not old enough yet to know how. But he will become that person in time."

"And Uther?'

"A great man perverted by his hatred of magic. It is a madness that grows inside him. I see it like a thready black canker eating away at him. It will consume him in the end."

He went silent for a moment, his eyes drifting to the grey skies glimpsed through the window.

"And Morgana," he asked, finally, "what do you see when you look at her?"

She smiled wryly.

"Too much. I see her magic, though it pales compared to yours. But I see passion and determination and confusion. I see a quest for justice. I see a spirit that could be turned in many directions."

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still on the darkening world outside.

"Promise me something," she declared, as though it was a command rather than a question.

His eyes flicked back to her and he nodded.

"Promise me that when the time comes; when the opportunity for love presents itself, promise me that you won't be... held back... by anything."

"Like what?" Merlin asked, confused at her change in tone.

"Arthur. The opinion of the Court..." she paused, "me."

He just stared at her, uncertain how to respond to such a strange request.

"Promise me, Merlin. I will be gone but you will still be here. Promise me that when the opportunity for you to love is there in front of you... promise me that you'll seize it."

He looked at her quizzically for a moment and then nodded.

"I promise, Dealthia. I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N So, this is officially the sequel to ALaaU. I'm really enjoying telling a story this way (hope you are too) so I'm going to flesh out all my ideas for where I wanted the ALaaU universe to go. As always, you know what to do if you enjoy or want to critique. **

**

* * *

**

The end came too soon

Arthur walked dejectedly into Morgana's chambers; noting with sadness the empty drawers and dressers, the void behind the open wardrobe door.

Merlin was standing in the corner looking out the window and down onto the courtyard.

"She's gone," he said, bluntly, not turning around. Arthur hadn't made any noise and was, as usual, taken aback that Merlin seemed to always sense his presence.

"I can actually see that," he replied, brusquely, "do you want to tell me how this happened?"

"I... I'm sorry, Arthur, I don't even know where to start."

"Then at least tell me _where_ she's gone," he ordered, beginning to get angry, "and will you look at me, please."

Merlin stayed where he was; his gaze still fixed on the window's panes.

"To Morgause, I think."

"Well, at least we know she will take care of her. That's something, I suppose," said Arthur.

Merlin didn't reply and Arthur knew, a plunging dread hitting his stomach like a stone, that there was something he didn't know.

"What aren't you telling me, Merlin? For God's sake, you're supposed to be my advisor. Advise. Why would she leave? We're her family. You're her... whatever you are. She loves you. What's happened?"

"Did you know Morgause is Mordred's mother?" Merlin asked, suddenly.

"What? That Druid boy she feels connected to? But that means... what?"

"I guess she didn't think we _were_ her family anymore." Merlin's breath hitched and Arthur realised he was looking away to hide his tears.

"Merlin..." he began.

"No, Arthur, there's something you need to know. Something I can barely say."

"What? What's going on?"

Merlin turned and Arthur could see finally the red-rimmed eyes and tracks of tears down his advisor's pale face. Below it a look of steely determination pursed around his mouth.

"Arthur, I think..."

He steeled himself some more, his breathing bringing his tears under control.

"I think she's dangerous."


	7. Chapter 7

**A plan**

There is a place that is no place. It exists without form; it is a form without existence. It is everywhere and nowhere; it is an answer without a question, a question that has never been voiced. It lies beyond the Vale.

It is Avalon.

Beside an apple orchard always in full bloom, three sisters meet and scry a warping of the world. There is a wrongness they need to find; a distortion they need to fix.

Mentally, they summon her to them. She is now one of the nine and can perhaps explain how she has turned the world down the wrong path. She is one of the many who serve after death; in a place where death does not exist.

Nimueh comes when summoned, still dressed in the rebellious red she wore when alive, though all others in Avalon dress in white.

"Why am I called?" she asks. Her arrogance is the one thing she could not leave behind in the world of the living.

"There is a... warping of the world," explains Argante, "a change in what could be. I have sensed it for many years but it has finally been made clear to us. What should be will not be. We... feel... you at the source of this. Do you know of what we speak?"

Nimueh hung her head; the shame of what she had to admit crowding in on her.

"I do," she admits, "I helped the once and future king be born, as was written, but I did not care who would be taken in exchange for his life. It took his mother's life and Uther was set on a path against magic."

The three look at each other in confusion.

"I am sorry, Nimueh, but I do not believe that is enough. As foretold, Merlin has been drawn to Arthur's side. His influence will overcome this."

Nimueh flushes as she keeps her eyes trained on the ground

"It is Merlin who killed me," she admits. "I was so inflamed with hatred toward the Pendragons that I would do anything to hurt them. Merlin kept thwarting me and I knew he was too important to die so I tried to punish him instead by taking his mother and then Gaius."

"Of these events we know also. Merlin's act was necessary to restore the balance your hatred had upset."

"But it turned him against those of us who follow the Old Religion. He is as suspicious of sorcerers as Uther himself. I am not the only one who has attacked Camelot in magic's name and it is rarely the King who is injured. The number of innocents who have died by my hand alone...," she pauses to regain her equanimity.

"The Dragon also betrayed his trust and Morgause is so determined to bring down Uther, she has failed to even notice that Emrys is right in front of her.

"All of this enmity: it has pushed both Merlin and Arthur toward Uther and Merlin is now as much Uther's servant as Arthur's. He has saved his life many times."

Argante sighs, closing her eyes and opening her sight to scry a world where Merlin was too closely aligned with Uthur.

"I see it now," she breathes, "Merlin protects Uther for Arthur's sake; his loyalty alienates Morgana; Arthur takes the throne; people see him as being an extension of his father; Arthur tries to unite Albion but his father's allies mistrust his acceptance of magic and the other Kingdoms mistrust his parentage; Morgause allies with Mordred and Morgana joins their cause; the Northern Kingdoms are roused to take power with Mordred as their leader; Arthur falls."

Argante's eyes snap open.

"How can this be prevented?"

"At the moment, it cannot," says Elaine calmly, "Arthur needs to prove his claim to be King of a united Britain. Then when he takes the throne, he is marked already for Kingship. He needs confirmation."

"What do you suggest?" asks Argante, but it is Nimueh who answers with a sly smile.

"Excalibur."

"The sword?" exclaimed Elaine, surprised, "Merlin has hidden it in the Lake. It is protected by the Sidhe. Only the Lady whose soul resides there can retrieve it."

"With Excalibur by his side, Arthur is protected," insists Nimueh, "his father's allies will respect its power and the other Kingdoms will respect its magic."

Argante nodded.

"We will make sure all know of the existence of the sword and that it is a symbol of the future ruler of Albion. All will try to salvage it..."

"... but only Merlin can," finished Nimueh. "The Lady will deliver it to him without question."

Even in death and service, she still couldn't help a slightly evil smile.

"It's strange. I never picked him for being so good with the ladies."


	8. Chapter 8

**The Plan**

Arthur stormed into Merlin's rooms where his new advisor was arranging the books that were already beginning to line the shelves in his bedroom.

The lanky man was dressed in the loose trousers and shirt of a peasant; not yet used to his new official robes. The room itself was a mess; books and clothes and more books littering the floor and table. Arthur took in the rumpled unmade bed and old breakfast dishes and determined that Merlin would need a servant – and soon.

He shook his head to regain his fury.

"My father is talking to Olaf about me marrying Vivian," he announced.

A small upward quirk of a lip was the only sign his advisor had heard him as he busied himself with his new library.

"Well?" demanded Arthur.

"Well, what?" asked Merlin, his smile extending to the other side of his mouth.

"You're supposed to be my advisor, Merlin. Advise me."

"Well, he does think you nearly started a war for love of her," noted Merlin, "and he does not know of your feelings for Gwen. So his actions seem reasonable to me. Surprisingly-considerate, actually."

"Merlin, that is... massively unhelpful," spluttered Arthur, his voice rising, "is that honestly the best you can come up with? And since when do you support my father's point of view on anything?"

Merlin sighed, closed the book he'd been perusing and sat on the table.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked. Patronisingly.

_Camelot's hero_, thought Arthur with annoyance. _Gone straight to his head_.

"I want options," Arthur ground out between clenching teeth.

"Fine," said Merlin, "if you're actually going to listen to my advice for once. You have two options."

Arthur nodded. _Finally_.

"Marry Vivian, or whomever your father prefers, and take Gwen as your mistress."

"No," Arthur burst out almost before Merlin had finished.

"It's your easiest option. Your father might be a bit... taken aback... by you giving such a privileged position as King's mistress to a commoner but he won't make things difficult for you and, as your advisor, I have to tell you that..."

"The answer's no, Merlin," said Arthur, angry until he saw the pride and relief sweeping Merlin's face. _Gods, he thought, what would have been his opinion of me if I'd said yes?_

"Ok then. Option two. Marry Vivian, or whomever your father prefers, and try to make it work. Forget Gwen. Let her have her own life."

"Are you saying those are my only two options?" Arthur was appalled.

"Merlin, you single-handedly rescued Morgana from our enemies and then came back from the brink of death. You're a peasant who speaks at least six languages and manages to be both an apprentice physician and my advisor. Tell me you can do better than that. Or was my father wrong to appoint you to this post?"

"What do you want, Arthur?" was all Merlin replied.

"What do I want? I want what you have. I want to wake up every single day with the woman I love."

Merlin sighed, "Morgana and I are different, Arthur. Your father would benefit from an alliance she made through marriage but it is not necessary. And as long as she remains unmarried, that alliance could still be made.

"He _needs you_ to cement an ally and to align that ally's interests to Camelot. That's why, apart from his belief that you have feelings for her, he's negotiating with Olaf. Vivian is his beloved daughter and he would act always in Camelot's interests if she were here as your wife.

"Besides, Uther will never let Morgana and I marry and that is what you say you want."

"Merlin, please," begged Arthur, "I will do anything you say, I will take your advice and your lead in all things. Just tell me you know a way to make this happen."

"You'd have to be sure. And you'd have to do everything I say."

"Did I not just tell you I would do that?"

"Well then, if you're sure. I have a plan."

"A plan?"

"Yes, Arthur, I've been considering this for a while. But as your Advisor, I have to say that it's not your best option politically and..."

"Merlin!"

"Yes, Arthur?"

"You have a plan?"

"I have a plan."

"Am I going to like this plan?"

"Arthur," he said, putting his hands reassuringly on the other man's shoulders.

"I guarantee that you will _hate _this plan."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N This prodigious output courtesy of the 36 hours of travel I've done in the last week – which included five hours in an airline lounge yesterday evening.**

**

* * *

**

Drunks

Morgana froze, her arms folding naturally across her waist, her face showing an emotion that could only be called quiet fury. She stood in the hallway, her anger mounting, as she watched the four of them stumble up the stairs then move slowly toward her; periodically knocking into each other and then stopping to laugh uncontrollably.

"Look," said Lancelot, in the loud whisper drunks thought was surreptitious, "it's Morgana."

"Shhh," counselled Arthur, one finger moving in front of his lips, "don't say anything. She'll be angry. If she doesn't notice us, maybe she'll just be angry at Merlin."

Merlin, she noted, found this statement hysterically funny as did Lancelot. The two clung to each other in a valiant attempt to stay upright. Yvain blinked drunkenly and just looked confused. As usual.

"She's going to be so mad at you," whispered Lancelot.

"Merlin," she intervened sharply, "you're drunk."

"I know," he replied sadly, "But if it makes you feel any better..." he pointed to the other three, "... they're drunker."

"No, Merlin, that does not make me feel better."

"But Lancelot's back in Camelot," he protested.

"I don't care, Merlin."

"Why is she so angry at Merlin?" Yvain asked Arthur.

"Shhh," whispered Arthur, loudly, "we're not here."

As statements go, Yvain thought it was somewhat self-defeating as it attracted the Lady's attention to the Crown Prince.

"If you think you're getting off lightly, Pendragon, it's because I know your wife is well-placed to deal with you." Morgana glared at him, then each of them, before turning back to a very contrite Merlin who was attempting what Arthur called the "sad puppy eyes".

"Well, you know where you're sleeping tonight, don't you?" declared Morgana. The "sad puppy eyes" seemed to have made her angrier.

And to Yvain's astonishment, the look on Merlin's face changed completely, his deep blue eyes drawing in and locking hers. She bit her lip at his expression and looked momentarily unsure.

"Yes," he said softly, "I do."

Morgana looked torn for a moment and then conceded.

"Fine," she snapped, "but you had better not be _too_ drunk."

"How do you do that?" asked Arthur enviously, as Morgana stormed away, "she never listens to me, let alone changes her mind."

"Wait," said Yvain, as though a billion candles had suddenly been lit in his brain, the bet with Mellum being the largest candle, "is this a sex thing?"

The three men looked at his innocent expression and bellowed again. Arthur this time ended up on the floor. Merlin steadied himself with one hand against the wall while the other held his stomach. Lancelot recovered quickly and turned a disapproving expression on the other two.

"I really didn't think we discussed it," he said, primly.

That just made Merlin and Arthur laugh even more.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N So, it has been brought to my attention that some people are confused about what I'm doing with this piece. That may explain the dispiriting lack of reviews (or maybe y'all just don't like it LOL). I mean, my pieces generally don't get a lot of reviews anyway apart from an amazing core group of people who always drop me a line (you know who you are and thank you!).**

**Anyway, this is just to reassure you that I have a plan: no plot line will be left unresolved; no reference is made randomly; and you will not be left wanting. And if you are happy, confused, excited, or sad, or there's a particular plotline you're enjoying, you're well aware how to let me know. **

**

* * *

**

Doubt

She rolled over onto her side to look at him sleeping beside her; a lock of his fast-growing hair falling over his face, one elfin ear popping out between the strands. She lay there for a moment just looking at him and then reached out one hand to stroke the ridge.

She loved this, that he was hers, that she could touch him like this without judgement or rejection. It was all so new. Sometimes she looked back on the last three months and it seemed as though they had been like this for a mere heartbeat. Or perhaps forever.

Her finger followed the ridge round to his lobe and he moved slightly in his sleep. His ears, she'd quickly discovered were sensitive; even more so than the skin above his collarbone and his ticklish feet.

She leant down and kissed his neck before taking a lobe gently between her teeth.

"Morgana," he muttered and she smiled. He was still asleep but thinking of her. It was a small miracle.

She tried to stop but found herself thinking of his death; his cold and broken body lying on the ground on a blood-stained valley floor. It was not her name he'd spoken then.

Of all the fears in her life, this is the newest and most blinding; the small niggling doubt that comes to taunt her in these quiet moments. She hated that doubt and hated more that part of her that wanted the doubt to be stilled.

If he saw his death again, would it be her name he spoke or the other one? The artist, the free-spirit, the confident and mature one, and, her mind can't help but add, _the better woman_.

Whose name sat on his tongue ready to be spoken in death?

She would never know and hated that she wanted to.


	11. Chapter 11

**Normality**

She sat at her dressing table; her long nightgown falling in folds to the floor. She smiled slightly as she drew the brush through her long ebony hair. It was strange how relaxing, how comforting, she found brushing to be. She sat here every evening drawing the bristles down through the strands. Merlin was lying on the bed behind her reading by blazing candlelight...

...He lay on the bed reading. It was a volume on herbal treatments for common illnesses. Gaius had insisted he read it but it wasn't very interesting. He already knew most of it and much preferred magical cures for supernatural illnesses. Morgana was brushing her hair. It was strangely comforting for him to see her there by the dressing table; the look of contentment on her face as she drew the brush down her beautiful dark hair. It was just so normal...

...It was the normality of it, she thought. No magic, no nightmares, no court intrigue, no fear of Uther discovering their magic. She was not a noblewoman; he was not merely an elevated peasant. She was not a witch; he was not the most powerful warlock in the land. They were just...

...just a man and a woman, he thought, here together...

...here together like any normal man and woman, she thought.

They both smiled; hers hidden by the wall behind her dresser; his buried in his book. Completely normal.


	12. Chapter 12

**Locking the door **

**Part 1**

"Merlin."

"Yes, Arthur."

"You are my Advisor."

"Yes, Arthur."

"You are supposed to be available to advise me."

"This is true."

"So, I don't care if you're changing or bathing or reading a 'really interesting theory into the disappearance of the last great Mesopotamian empire' or 'a chapter with fascinating insights into the potential medicinal uses of the common household mouse'. You will admit me to your chambers whenever I knock and you will never, ever, lock the door."

"Are you sure that...?"

"Yes, Merlin, I am very sure."

"I mean, I'm not that only one who uses..."

"Merlin, do not lock this door."

"Yes, Arthur."


	13. Chapter 13

**I thought you'd died and gone away**

It was a rare moment in his life when Arthur did not know how to react. But Malcolm's incompetent enthusiasm and tiny stature had disarmed him completely.

A year or so ago he would have hit him over the head, called him an idiot, and told him that any other servant in the world was better than him.

But the small boy would drop his breakfast or tear his favourite shirt and he'd look at the determined concentration on the 10-year-old's face and he'd be rendered speechless.

It was the day of the tournament and Malcolm stood on a stool in front of him, not tall enough to work without it, and attempted to dress Arthur. He pulled fastenings that should be loosened, loosened ones that should be firm. Under Malcolm's ministrations, Arthur's armour pinched under his arms and restricted his chest but shifted worryingly around his neck when he moved.

He looked at the boy's corn-coloured hair and sparkling blue eyes dolefully. He was going to have to say something.

"Merlin," the boy cried and he clambered down from his stool; his task forgotten in the joy of seeing his idol.

"Impressive job on the armour," said Merlin, somehow conveying its awfulness to Arthur while seeming to compliment Malcolm, "and you should get Arthur some more water. Tournaments are a thirsty business."

Malcolm grabbed a bucket and scampered off to the well. Merlin waited until the boy was out of earshot and grinned broadly.

"You look like a confused turtle."

He walked over, his gait still a little uneven from his injuries, and began fixing the straps and fastenings.

"Thank the Gods, Merlin, I was starting to wonder if I should be saying my final farewells to people."

"You certainly wouldn't have lasted long like this," his former servant noted and gave Arthur a small curious look before continuing his work.

"What? Just spit it out, Merlin."

"It's just so unusual to see you so... patient. When I became your servant, you nearly brained me."

"You deserved a braining," said Arthur dryly, "still do, actually. But I've decided to settle for the gutting."

Merlin smiled at that; glad that Arthur had found it in himself to insult him again. He'd been far too nice while he was injured; it made him feel as though his death was imminent.

"Why did you take Malcolm on anyway?"

"It was a favour to Sir Erec. As the fourth son of a minor nobleman, and being so short and stocky, Malcolm's not had much luck getting a position a squire. It seemed a good chance to get him some experience while you convalesced. Besides, I didn't think any servant could be as incompetent as you."

"There, you're all set," pronounced Merlin.

Malcolm chose that moment to run with his bucket, sloshing the water all over the bottom of the tent. Merlin and Arthur stifled laughs.

"I just put some finishing touches on Arthur's armour," said Merlin carefully, "so it's just how he likes it. You know how fussy and particular these arrogant royal types can be."

Malcolm laughed and Arthur faked a scowl.

"I'm right here, you know, Merlin," he growled, "maybe some time in the stocks will teach you some respect."

That just made Malcolm laugh more.

"Do you want me to show you what I did?" Merlin asked and Malcolm nodded enthusiastically; excited to be shown anything by his hero.

Arthur stood still, letting the tall slim man and small stocky boy move around him as Merlin gave instructions on the correct way to put on his armour. He wondered if he should have told Merlin the truth, but these things did not come easily to him.

He was supposed to be Arthur Pendragon; heir to the throne and Knight of Camelot. He didn't know how to say it but he could think it.

_Because if I'd replaced you with a servant who could serve me properly, it would have been like admitting you were going to die. And I couldn't have borne that._


	14. Chapter 14

**I hate this plan**

"Merlin."

"Yes, Arthur?"

"I hate this plan."

"I thought you might."

"It's complicated. It's convoluted. And it's going to take too long. Do you realise that with this plan, it may be _years_ before Gwen and I are together. Years."

"Well, there is another plan but I didn't think you'd want to do it."

"What's that?"

"We could murder your father. Once you're King, you can do whatever you want."

"I'm going to ignore that, Merlin – and not put you to death for treason – because I know you aren't serious. Anything else?

"Cold baths?"

"Very helpful. Oh, and Merlin, if this plan doesn't work, I have a vat of hot oil with your name on it."

"Yes Sire."


	15. Chapter 15

**Evil disappearing cat**

"Morgana," Arthur greeted her; his tone far too cheerful to be a good thing, "one of the chambermaids has something to ask you."

He stepped aside to reveal a very young chambermaid, perhaps 13 years old. She was holding a rather docile black cat.

"My Lady," she began tentatively, "when I was cleaning your chambers, I found this cat hiding underneath your bookcase. It was terrified, poor thing. Is it yours or should I... I mean... it's such a sweet thing and the Prince said you may not want it... and if you didn't want it..."

"My dear," responded Morgana graciously, trying to ignore the impulse to attack the evil little thing, "you can have her. She also has kittens. They're with Gaius, if you want them too."

"Thank you, My Lady," the girl bobbed and ran.

"Magical, evil, disappearing cat," teased Arthur.

"Oh, be quiet, Arthur."

"Not much of a comeback Morgana. Are you sure you're feeling alright? Maybe the cat put a spell on you."

"I swear, Pendragon, one day..."


	16. Chapter 16

**Camelot's hero**

Camelot's hero

At moments like this, Sir Yvain found himself mentally reciting on father's views on Knighthood. His father believed strongly in chivalry, propriety, piety, abstinence and celibacy, at least before marriage.

His father was one of Olaf's most loyal landowners; he believed in order, in feudalism, in obedience to this King, and he believed fanatically in the war against magic.

He also believed strongly in cabbage, although Yvain had long ago decided he could cope without adopting all his father's ironclad beliefs.

He would not have approved of Yvain being in a public bar with a peasant-turned freeman, a disgraced former Knight of Camelot who was also not of noble birth, and a mysterious black-clad stranger that he had only just worked out was Arthur in disguise.

He would not have approved of the volume of mead they'd drunk. He would definitely not have approved of the singing.

He would gibber with rage at the bar maids' slovenly attempts to seduce Lancelot.

"So, handsome man, where are you sleeping tonight?" asked one of them, her ratty blonde hair sticking to her forehead from the heat of the small tavern.

She slid onto his lap.

"Or should I say, who will you be sleeping with?"

"Who will I be sleeping with?" slurred Lancelot, as he slid her off his lap. "Merlin!" he yelled and to Yvain's confusion the two men banged their tankards on the table, howling with laughter.

"Oh?" queried the maid, "and who would believe that, pray tell?"

"Why... why wouldn't they believe that?" managed Yvain. He was having some difficulty talking as well.

"And... how c...c...come you haven't made improper suggestions to Merlin and Ar... my mysterious friend here... and me?"

The next day, it would be this question he would find most humiliating to remember. It's not that he was disappointed. He had found none of them attractive. He had just really wanted to know.

"Well, darling, you're so young I doubt your balls have dropped. Even if they have, I suspect you don't know what to do with them."

Merlin and Lancelot howled again, although Yvain was pretty sure it was more to do with their drunkenness than her coarse wit.

"I suspect I'm better off not knowing who the mysterious one is and, as for Merlin here, well, everyone knows where he sleeps. Why waste my time with Camelot's hero?"

Yvain noticed that Merlin sobered significantly at that statement and he remembered the incident with Mellum at the feast two night's previous.

"Why are you Camelot's hero?" he asked Merlin.

"That's a long story from a long time ago," he replied finally, "I'm sure you'll hear it from someone if you stay in Camelot long enough."

"Awww, don't be so modest," said an aggressive voice. Yvain looked up as Mellum leant against their table; the drunk man's tankard sloshing beer onto the floor. He hadn't noticed the older Knight enter the establishment but saw he was with a group of men Yvain had quickly decided would not meet with the approval of his father's code. Or at least those parts of his father's moral code he had decided were worthy of adhering to. They often smelt like men who enjoyed eating cabbage.

"Admit it, you love it," continued Mellum with a sneer, "all the attention, all the adoration. Everyone treating you like you're not a pathetic peasant farmer who crawled his way out of the dirt."

Yvain froze, noticing that Arthur and Lancelot had done the same. Such an insult to a Knight should result in a challenge. Despite his position, Mellum had essentially challenged Merlin. With Merlin's physique and lack of training, Mellum would kill him easily.

The young Knight caught Lancelot's eyes – Arthur's being obscured by his cloak – expecting to find concern; confused to find fury and determination. He seemed to be struggling to control his own reaction rather than waiting for Merlin's.

When there was no angry retort from the Prince's Advisor, Yvain glanced over to see what was delaying his response.

To his surprise, he found Merlin calmly polishing off the last of his mead.

"Come on," the tall man said as he took his last mouthful, "I think there are better places to spend our coin."

And the young Knight followed the other three men out, leaving Mellum fuming at being ignored, and wondering once again about the enigma that was Merlin.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N A bit of a pressie for my loyal reviewers. You weren't supposed to get this for a while but hopefully you enjoy it. Let's just say... it's a bit offbeat.**

**

* * *

**

Locking the Door

**Part 2**

"Morgana, why are you tied to one of the bedposts in Merlin's chambers... in your nightgown?"

"I'm the evil Baron's lovely ward and he's tied me up here until I agree to marry him."

"Okay," said an unsure Arthur, wondering what on Earth the woman was on about.

"You should probably leave," suggested Morgana.

"Oh, and why is that?"

"Because I'm about to be rescued by my brave and handsome knight. Although I have to admit, we never seem to escape far."

"Oh... Oh! Gods! Um, okay. I'll be going then."

As he stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him, Arthur tried to pretend he didn't hear Merlin yell, "Never fear, fair maiden, I am here to rescue you!"


	18. Chapter 18

**My name is Uther**

My name is Uther Pendragon. I am a former Knight of Camelot. I am the scourge of magic's plans to control this land. I am the King of the glorious city of Camelot.

I am the most powerful man in the world.

* * *

I have made mistakes in my life, many mistakes. There are things that I regret, of course. Only a fool rationalises all his decisions as the best that could be made, just because he was the one who made them. My job is to decide and act and consider the consequences later. I do it well.

I was taught from birth that the world was something I had the right and the ability to control. My father was a hard man who believed in discipline and I have for most of my life believed him to be right. He taught me the lesson that all true Knights know; that there is a natural order in the world, a way things should be. This is why I am King. Because I am supposed to be.

Today is my son's twenty-fourth birthday. It has been three eventful years since he attained his adulthood, completed his training, and became the Crown Prince. I am proud of him every single day.

The Great Hall has been decorated for the celebratory feast. My ward – my daughter – Morgana is in charge of the preparations, as is fitting until Arthur brings a wife to Camelot.

It was Arthur's new advisor who suggested she take the position. He was right, as I am learning he is right in most things, that she needs a role to play in Camelot's life. She needs a place to fit in, some responsibility to call her own. And even if we find a wife for Arthur, it would not be appropriate for him to marry much before his thirtieth birthday. He has too much to learn first.

It was a gamble on my part elevating the boy to his position. A peasant from a farming village outside of my Kingdom's borders, albeit a peasant from more lofty antecedents. His Great Uncle is my own Court Physician.

I see the boy – a man now, I suppose – race through the room to drop a brief word to Morgana before running away on some task. He has not yet learned the dignity he should adopt in his new position. But he will.

It was not just for her that I have given him this, of course. His loyalty has been a blinding, extraordinary thing from the moment he saved my son's life from Mary Collins and he has shown nothing but bravery, intelligence, and fidelity since.

The common people have even dubbed him 'Camelot's hero' for his recent noble rescue of my daughter from her captor; a rescue during which he nearly died. The scars on his torso will remind me forever that he is worthy of my trust.

His grandmother may have lost her station and her wealth by trying to defy the natural order with her disastrous marriage, but she at least cultured in her daughter a desire for and respect for learning. This she has passed to her own son. Mixed in with a great deal of clumsiness and thoughtless stupidity from time to time but all men have their flaws.

He does not let his love for Morgana impinge on his duty to my son and that is all that I can ask.

Control of the day-to-day life of the castle should be Ygraine's role, of course. Oh, my Ygraine! My beautiful, kind, gifted, poised, refined Ygraine. She would be older if she'd lived but in my mind's eyes she is as young and graceful as she ever was; her face unlined by care or age, her body as lithe as when she was the slip of the girl I fell in love with as a young man.

Morgana reminds me of her sometimes. When I think back on those few short years of happiness, that short time that I was complete – a man whole for one brief minute – I find I cannot deny my ward what I so miss.

She is her father's only child and her mother is dead as well. All of Gorlois' property belongs to her, under my management for now until it can go to her husband in marriage, so it is not to my detriment that she remains unmarried. Those estates more than support her upkeep and boost my coffers as well. It is a satisfactory outcome – for now.

Besides, she challenges me less. She is too distracted by her happiness. Merlin keeps her temper in check.

I want her happiness because I love her and because I would give anything to have again the joy that she now experiences. But I do not deny that it benefits me as well.

My son has entered the room and I offer him a cup of wine to celebrate the day. He takes it and we stand in silence. I try to talk to him as a father but I have never known how. I have been too busy teaching him how to be a King.

I have succeeded but now I have nothing to say to him, no words to express my feelings. He is a great man, albeit one that acts rashly where woman are concerned. I am only glad that his pursuit of the Lady Vivian did not end in war and that his recent rejection of her as a prospective wife did not ruin Camelot's alliance with Olaf's Kingdom.

It appeared that Merlin had been right, again. Arthur was still too young to marry and he and Vivian had acted not on love but youthful lust. Sensitive enquiries had revealed that both regretted their actions. I am glad the marriage has been averted early before too many negotiations had been undertaken and that Olaf appears more annoyed with his daughter's fickleness than with my son's.

Still, if Arthur has not found an appropriate woman in a few years... it's not as though love is a pre-requisite of a royal marriage after all.

My son has downed his wine and gone to his Knights, to his friends. Merlin has re-entered the room and has taken up his position near enough to Morgana to show his preference but far enough away that there will not be gossip. Of the two of them, he at least knows the meaning of discreet.

None of them look my way.

I stand there for a moment, alone in a room of subjects and servants.

* * *

My name is Uther Pendragon.

I am the loneliest man in Camelot.


	19. Chapter 19

**Locking the Door**

**Part 3**

"Arthur!"

"Merlin, why are you tied to your bed with your neckerchief?"

"Ummm... ahhh... ummm... because....I've," he paused, looking around for escape but finding nothing, "I've been kidnapped by an Amazonian warrior princess who wants to ravish me. You'd better go, she'll be here soon."

"Right," said Arthur, "I'll be going then, shall I?"

"Definitely a good idea."

As Arthur stepped out into the corridor, he tried to pretend he didn't hear the woman he thought of as a sister yell, "you put up a brave fight, young Knight, but you are powerless against me now!"


	20. Chapter 20

**Temptation**

_Morgana_, whispered the scaly voice in her head.

_No,_ she replied brusquely.

_Morgana!_

_I said no. I am receiving royal guests with Arthur and Uther. I cannot come to see you._

_Come to me, Morgana, I need your help._

_I do not care. My answer remains no. It was no a year ago and it is no now._

_A world without fear, Morgana. A world where you and Merlin can be together forever._

_I will not free you, Kilgharrah._

_Yes, Morgana, you will. One day, you will. And on that day, we will both exact our revenge on Uther._

_Go away, lizard. I do not want to become like you._

_But you are, Morgana. You already are._


	21. Chapter 21

**Would you dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?**

_Morgana._

She shifted in her saddle and ignored him. She was hunting far from Camelot's gates, It wasn't as though she could run to the cavern at his command.

_Morgana!_

His voice, more insistent this time, distracted her as she had been drawing her bow to shoot. Merlin would be relieved the animal had been spared but she was getting frustrated at her lack of success. Arthur had already killed a deer and there was no way he was winning their unofficial and unspoken competition... again.

_Morgana!_

_No, _she thought at him_, I'm hunting and I can't come._

_Come soon, witch. I wish to speak with you. You will not regret it._

_I violently dislike you, _she thought back at him_._

_The feeling, as you know, is entirely mutual. But feelings are irrelevant. We are kindred spirits, you and I._

_I do not trust you._

_Trust is as irrelevant as emotions. I did you a favour and now I need one in return. _

_Helping me cure Merlin benefited you as much as me. I owe you no favour._

_Perhaps not. But this too will be as much to your advantage as it is to mine._

_What do you mean?_

_We both dream of a Camelot ruled by Arthur rather than Uther, do we not? I can make this come to pass. _

_Since my kidnap, Uther has been kind and attentive. He has given me charge of his household and he has allowed Merlin and I to be together. Why would I act against him now?_

_Because he will revert. Even now he puts caveats on your relationship with Merlin. Magic is still banned and you still live in fear of discovery. Help me and he will be gone. You will be free._

_Why haven't you asked Merlin to help you?_

_I have, many times. He has refused. He does not trust me. And he believes that Arthur needs his father. I disagree._

_I don't, _she thought back at him_, Merlin would never forgive me if I went back down this path. The answer is no._

_Very well. Maybe you will change your mind after a few more executions or when Uther tells you that your relationship with Merlin must end. Until then, happy hunting, witch._

Distraction gone, she aimed her bow at the deer but missed again. She paused, then reached out her hand and killed it with a single deathly word. Just a few weeks of Merlin's tutelage had improved her skills immensely.

She thought of a world where she and the man she loved could marry and be together forever. A world where she could practice magic like this without fear. She smiled at the idea and shot an arrow into the animal to make it appear it had died by normal means.

_One day,_ she thought_, I will not have to hide like this anymore. One day I will be free._

She would never act on it of course but she had to admit. The Dragon's offer was tempting.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N Pick the person who was once again on planes and in airports for 12 hours straight. Apparently travelling is very conducive to the writing of one-shots and drabbles**

**

* * *

**

Two of a kind

Morgana stormed through the hall corridors, the reverberating sound of her high heels echoing off stone walls. She threw open the door of her chambers and slammed it behind her; standing for one brief moment in the quiet of her room with her eyes closed, trying to calm herself down.

"Trouble in paradise?" enquired a wryly annoying voice with a trill.

Morgana opened her eyes to the unpleasant realisation that the Lady Vivian was in her chambers, reclining in a chair by the fireplace.

"Lady Vivian," she greeted her pleasantly, trying desperately to be civil and deciding at the last moment to fail miserably, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company... in my rooms... without my permission."

Vivian smiled in a way that could be almost be characterised as friendly and apologetic.

"I wanted to apologise."

Morgana was glad she wasn't eating because she would have choked. Was Vivian being nice?

"Apologise?"

"For telling my father about your flight through the corridors the other night. I was just so stunned. You and a servant... in your nightclothes. It was obvious what was going on and I couldn't believe that you weren't more conscious of the behaviour due your station."

Morgana smiled. Arthur, or anyone else that knew her well, would have run at that smile. Merlin would have shepherded her out of the room.

"Considering your behaviour last time you were in Camelot, I hardly think you are a woman to judge. I at least have not been discovered half-naked in a bed with a man I barely know."

"I think there's a significant difference between the Prince of Camelot and some peasant who's been promoted past his station."

"Vivian, if you have gained entry to my chambers without my permission just to insult me..."

"No," interrupted Vivian, "no, I'm sorry. I genuinely wanted to apologise. My father told me he went to Uther about it. I didn't want to get you into trouble."

Morgana looked at her appraisingly, trying to discern if the other woman was genuine. Finally, she nodded carefully.

"Thank you for your apology but it's unnecessary. The King simply gave me the usual lecture on the meaning of the word 'discreet'."

"Are you telling me he knows about you and Merlin," scoffed Vivian, "and he _allows it_?"

"Yes, Vivian. Merlin and I have been... whatever we are... for two years. Our relationship continues with Uther's knowledge and permission."

Morgana tensed for another derisory thrust and was therefore taken unawares when Vivian burst into tears.

She stood in silence for a moment wondering what on Earth she should do.

"I'm sorry," sobbed Vivian finally, "it's all just so unfair that you always get to do what you want. All I ever wanted was the man I love and my father would never allow it."

"Vivian," began Morgana carefully, "if you mean Arthur then I don't think..."

"Arthur! Why would I want Arthur? Another arrogant Knight with muscles instead of brains. No, I love Henry."

"Henry?" said Morgana, wondering when her life became a succession of surreal events _Since that damn cat. Evil. _

"Who's Henry?" she sighed in submission and sat on a chair by the fireplace.

"He's one of our grooms. I've loved him since... oh... forever... well, since I was 18 anyway. Daddy was so determined to protect me from Knights and such and Henry was the only man I really got to see because I love riding so much and one thing led to another," she paused and looked bewildered, "and then for some reason I fell in love with Arthur even though he's completely not my type."

She shook her head to clear it of the confusing memory.

"When I got back home after the peace negotiations, I told Henry that I was in love with another man. He grabbed me and he kissed me and it, oh, all just came flooding back. I love Henry. My Henry!"

_True love,_ thought Morgana, _so the spell didn't wear off after all._

"And now my father is determined that I should marry Arthur. Even though I told him that us nearly starting a war for love of each other was a mistake. Arthur doesn't even want to marry me anymore; Uther called off the negotiations nearly two years ago. I'm sorry, but when I saw you were with a servant, well..."

"Are you telling me you've been so rude to me because you were... _jealous_?" exclaimed Morgana disbelieving.

"You're the only one I've ever met with the courage to pursue a servant's love."

"Trust me," said Morgana wryly, "around here it's almost compulsory."

Vivian grabbed a handkerchief from her a small pocket in her dress and dabbed her eyes. Then she looked at Morgana shyly.

"Can I tell you about him? My wonderful Henry? And then maybe you can tell me about your Merlin."

"Of course," replied Morgana, wondering if Vivian would notice if she hung herself from the ceiling.

"Well, Henry has the most wonderful seat for riding and he's..."

Morgana smiled as the other woman spoke of her love, although she was thinking _Gwen and Arthur will be now. This was the final hurdle; the thing Uther was holding onto. My brother and my best friend will be. What kind of person would not be happy?_


	23. Chapter 23

**Childhood Sweetheart**

"Merlin?"

"Hum um," he mumbled, obviously on the verge of sleep.

She looked at the back of his head and paused for a moment.

"Has there ever been anyone else? Anyone you cared for? A childhood sweetheart from Ealdor maybe?"

He stirred at the question, and she felt rather than saw his eyes open.

"No," he replied, then, "well, yes. There was somebody but not in Ealdor. It was here, in Camelot."

"Here? Is she... I mean... um... is she still here?"

"No." He paused, his faced still turned away from her.

"She died."

"Oh Merlin, I'm sorry. Did you love her?"

"You're the only one I ever loved," he replied matter-of-factly, "but I cared about her. I wanted to protect her. I failed."

"Will you tell me about her?"

"One day," he said sadly, "I'll tell you one day."


	24. Chapter 24

**The Pretender Prince**

Uther was furious.

It was evident in the sudden stressful scurry of the servants, the tense pursed lips of the functionaries, the grim look on Gaius' and Merlin's – the two royal advisors' – faces.

It was in the set look of concentration on Prince Arthur as he and a nervous but perfectly-groomed Lady Morgana ventured warily to the Throne Room.

Not since Kilgharrah had winged his way to a violent and bloody freedom had the King been this upset – or this terrifying.

Arthur strode into the Throne Room, his sister by his side, to find his Advisor already there.

"Arthur," the King greeted him perfunctorily, "we've heard stories of a treasonous rumour circulating throughout the Kingdom. Gaius..."

"I'm afraid we've heard rather disturbing stories of a pretender Prince who claims that he will inherit the throne of Camelot upon your father's death once he possesses a sword called 'Excalibur'," explained Gaius.

"Excalibur?" queried Arthur, "I've never heard of such a thing. Since when do swords have names?"

"The rumour is that whoever is able to obtain this sword is the rightful ruler of the Kingdom. This man, whose name we have not yet been able to discover, claims to know where to find it."

"Do we even know where this sword is, where it came from, how I can get it?" Arthur looked at Merlin as he asked the questions and was confused to see his Advisor with his head down, intent on the stone floors.

Puzzled, he turned his attention back to his father and Gaius.

"The rumours," Gaius said, "say that the once and future King of all Albion..."

"All Albion?" interjected Uther.

"All Albion," continued Gaius, "will be the only one who will be able to get the sword from its hiding place."

"And where is it hidden?"

"A lake that guards the entrance to Avalon."

"Superstitious nonsense spread by adherents of the Old Religion," said Uther, "there is no such place as Avalon."

"Perhaps not," said Gaius, "but if such a sword exists than Arthur should try to obtain it. Many people will be searching for it and if someone else should acquire it..."

"They would ferment rebellion against the throne," finished Uther. "You are right, as always old friend. Arthur, you will seek out this Excalibur and use it to solidify your position as Crown Prince. Who knows, maybe with it as a symbol you _will_ be King of all Albion."

"Yes Father, of course," said Arthur. He nodded at Merlin and the two exited the room together, trailed by a disconsolate Morgana. Arthur wondered momentarily what was wrong with her; particularly when she shot Merlin a sad look.

"Well? Merlin?" asked Arthur, as soon as they were a suitable distance away, "what is it? What's wrong?"

Merlin bit his lip and looked at Arthur wearily.

"Well, spit it out," demanded Arthur.

Merlin paused again, then said with a careful look at Morgana.

"I know where it is."


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N This is all from me for a little while folks. Have a great weekend.**

**

* * *

**

Locking the Door

**Part 4**

"Let me guess," said Arthur, "the evil Baron's lovely ward?"

"Actually, no," replied Morgana, her arms tied behind her back around the bedpost, "I'm a Princess who has been kidnapped by an evil sorcerer who is enamoured of me."

"About to be rescued by your brave and handsome knight, are you?"

Morgana smirked. An evil smirk.

"Actually, no," she said, her evil grin broadening by the second, "the evil sorcerer is about to put a spell on me so I can't resist him. I'll try to fight it, of course, but in the end I'll be _begging_ him to...".

"Enough," yelled Arthur, "I've had enough. I know what I told Merlin, but I've changed my mind. From now on, _lock the door_!"


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N Airports! Don't you love them? So, I wrote this weeks ago and just found it in my "writing on a plane notebook". Enjoy.**

**

* * *

**

Destiny and other immaterial things

It was too soon. That's what she thought as she sat by his bedside. It had not even been a year since she had saved his life with the stone. For him to die now... was unthinkable, impossible, intolerable.

He lay on the same small pallet he had occupied while he was injured; his white face just as pale, his brow just as fevered.

She wiped his forehead with a cloth as she had done before and moved his damp hair away from his closed eyes with the same trembling hands.

"You need a haircut, my love," she said softly, "but then you nearly always do."

Gaius came in with a potion and forced it down his apprentice's throat.

"I don't know this illness," he admitted, tortured, "I have never seen it before."

"Are you telling me this is magical?" she asked angrily, "is Merlin under attack?"

"I don't know, my dear," said the old man sadly, "I just don't know. But for him to get so sick so suddenly..." he shrugged helplessly.

"I want his book," she demanded, "I know he didn't take it with him to his new quarters. Where is it?"

"Morgana," cautioned Gaius, "if someone should see you with..."

"I don't care."

"It's too dangerous, my dear."

"Gaius!"

He opened his mouth to argue again, then nodded and gestured wordlessly to a floorboard near the wardrobe.

"Be careful," he advised and left the room.

Morgana strode across the room and wrenched up the floor, pulling out the book. She sat down by the bed and flipped through the pages, trying to concentrate on finding a spell to heal him and not on the events of the night before.

It had all been so normal. Now he had his own chambers and so much work to do, she had begun spending more time there than in her own rooms. She had sat writing a letter while Merlin had been studying the genealogy and history of Camelot's allies and enemies; trying to decipher the complex interrelationships and intermarriages of their friends and foes.

It was vital knowledge he needed to be Arthur's advisor but studying it took up so much time. They'd had their first fight about it just a week ago when she had spent a full four hours with him without him speaking to her once.

"I do need some acknowledgement that I exist, Merlin," she'd said, angrily, "your life can't all be destiny." It had turned out to be the wrong thing to say.

Merlin had set the book down on the table suddenly and clutched his head, giving a slight groan. She'd looked up to see him close the book and stumble unsteadily to the bed.

"I suddenly don't feel well," he'd said faintly; his hand moving to cover his eyes to block out the light. She'd walked over to the bed, prepared to admonish him for working himself to exhaustion – again – but had instead found him with a dangerously-high fever.

Gaius was right. It was too sudden and too specific. They'd made enquiries but no one else was affected. This was magic and only she could counter it.

She looked at the blurring print of the book. Why hadn't she let Merlin teach her the languages she needed to decipher these ancient spells? She'd been too impatient and didn't have his skills for scholarship. Now half the book was a mystery to her and the other half was completely useless.

She slammed it shut with a loud thump. She had only one choice. And the snake had better help her.

Torch in hand, she stumbled down the stairs to his cavern and waited for him to come to her. She refused to call out for help; simply standing there in the thin flickering torchlight until she heard the leathery flap of his wings.

He settled down on the ledge and looked at her calmly; his large eyes emanating an ancient patience. He'd come but was stubbornly refusing to break their stalemate. It was her who had come to him after all. They stood there for a moment staring at each other; waiting for the other to break first.

"I need your help," she said finally, overcoming her pride for Merlin's sake.

"And why is that?" he asked superciliously.

"Don't you know? Merlin is ill. Very ill. I am convinced it is magic. I need a counterspell."

"You know my price," the Dragon said, "or at least you should suspect it. I asked you several months ago to help me bring down Uther. You were hunting at the time, I believe. A judicious use of your talents, I must say. Help me with my plan and I will help you cure Merlin."

"What is this plan, lizard? And why is it something Merlin would not do for you?"

"Free me," he answered with a smile. "Free me from my bonds and _I_ will kill Uther."

"You have to be jesting," Morgana replied with an angry laugh, "you have made your contempt for all who follow Uther clear. You have made your contempt for all, like me, who don't fit into your _grand plan_ clear. How many innocents will die when you attack Camelot? Merlin would never forgive me."

"Merlin's forgiveness means relatively little if he is dead," noted the Dragon, "and I will do my best to avoid harming those who are not my captor."

"But you will kill those who get in your way," declared Morgana. "I know you, lizard and better than you think. You are twisted by bitterness and hate and I will not free you."

"Besides," she added thoughtfully, "you have put so much time and effort into grooming Merlin and Arthur to claim Albion and return magic to this land. I don't believe you'll let Merlin die now."

The Dragon leaned forward till Morgana could feel his breath on her face. She refused to flinch, even as his giant eyes bored into hers.

"I am more than 1000 years old, witch, don't you presume to understand either myself or my motives."

He pulled back.

"But in this you are right, of course. A world without Merlin is not one I would choose. A world without Uther, however... you can't tell me you aren't tempted."

"Of course I am," she snapped, "but I will be guided by Merlin's example. You were right about me when we first met. You and I are as manipulative and as selfish as each other. I have decided to change. Have you?"

We are what we are, Morgana," he said sadly, "all else passes with the fading day. I will help you without price but one day you will set me free."

"Don't hold your breath, lizard."

"Kilgharrah," he said, softly.

"What?"

"My name is Kilgharrah. Friends should address each by their names and you will and I will be very good friends."

"What about Merlin?" Morgana asked; reminding him of why she was there.

"His illness is serious; he may die. But I sense no magic here. There is no spell to be countered, Morgana, no magic to defeat. His sickness is natural."

"What...? But how...? It can't be. Gaius is Camelot's Physician and he says he doesn't recognise it. He can't treat it. How can I help him if it is not magic? Kilgharrah, please, what can I do?"

"You can heal him," he replied simply.

"But you just said... how can I heal him?"

"The power is within you, Morgana," he said, "you just have to find it." And he took the air; winging his way into the cavern's depths.

"Thanks for nothing,_ lizard,_" she spit, glad she had not paid his price. She'd die before freeing that scaly bastard.

She walked back into Gaius' chambers and to Merlin's bedside. _Back again_, she thought. She cast her mind back a year ago to a clearing with a stream and furniture built of logs. Something she had done there had saved Merlin's life, keeping him from death until the stone could heal him. Maybe that was what the Dragon was referring to.

The smooth jewel had glowed in response to her love but had also tapped into a magic deep inside her. She'd tried to find that spark again but her gifts seemed to be fire and the simpler spells Merlin had taught her.

She smiled grimly at the thought that killing was so easy while healing was so difficult. Only Merlin, with his mastery of life and death, could heal even simple injuries. The Dragon may be amoral and manipulative but he would not lie when Merlin's life was at stake. If he said she had the power, then she did. She just needed to find it.

"Would the stone work?" said Arthur's voice from the doorway, strangely, frighteningly subdued.

Morgana's head snapped up. She had not heard him enter and the magic they had used to heal Merlin was not something they spoke about.

"I don't know," she admitted. She smiled wryly. "Is Uther's son suggesting we use _magic_ to heal him?"

"I guess it depends," he said quietly, "on whether your magic is strong enough or not."

"What?!" she exclaimed.

"It's alright, Morgana. I know. I think I should have known before. The dreams. How often they came true. But I only found out when you cured Merlin. It didn't make sense so I read the book."

"Geoffrey's book about the stone?"

"Love and magic," he said, "both of which were somewhat of a surprise to me, as you can imagine. I was angry but then I figured that the former kind of trumped the latter."

"So, I'm not an evil sorcerer that should be put to death," she asked with aggressive sarcasm.

"No," he answered, "I've had some time now to think about it and no."

"Thank you, Arthur," she said genuinely, "I can't quite believe it. I've been so terrified of...."

Arthur shrugged. "I thought that you would tell me when you wanted to."

He looked at Merlin in the bed. "Does he know?"

Morgana paused; briefly tempted to tell Arthur the truth about Merlin but decided not to. It was his secret. It was his choice.

"Yes," she said simply, "Merlin knows."

"Can you help him?" asked Arthur.

"I don't know. I don't know how. I know I have the power but I..."

"Love, Morgana," said Arthur, "that made the stone work. When you think about it, there is no greater act of love than healing. I've often thought Physicians must love the whole damn world to be able to do what they do."

Morgana turned to him in surprise. "By the Gods, Arthur Pendragon, I never... thank you!"

"Glad I could help for once."

Morgana turned to Merlin, closed her eyes and put her hands upon his chest. She remembered the feeling of the stone working; the way it had picked up her magic and drawn it through her. Arthur was right. It had been a conductor, an enhancer, but the spark of power and the desire to heal; that had all been her.

She thought about her life from the moment the wall of her cell had blasted into a fiery cleansing light. That light was Merlin. Without his guidance and his protection, without his love, she did not even want to think where her life would have led.

He was her fierce, loyal Lion, her pure bright Unicorn. He was her man, her friend, her family. He was everything.

She sat there, hands on his prone body, and could have crowed with glee as she felt it; the truest, purest power she had felt. It flowed through her, wild and intoxicating. As she felt his fever drain from his body, she suddenly knew a more fundamental truth.

He gift wasn't fire and death. Her magic wasn't weak. She had spent so much time in anger that she had been looking for power in the wrong place. Her strong proud gift was healing.

"Take that, Kilgharrah," she muttered, "I am nothing like you. And you will never be free."


	27. Chapter 27

**Phase one**

"So that was only step one of the plan?" asked Arthur, impatiently. "Can't we move a bit faster?"

"It's only been a month, Arthur, and if I suddenly start to advocate your marriage to Gwen your father will get suspicious. The first step was to stop the marriage to Vivian and plant the idea that you are too immature to get married just yet."

"Are you saying you told my father I'm immature? I am not immature."

"If you say so, Arthur."

"Merlin, I am not immature."

"Immature enough to get annoyed at a _fake insult_."

"Just get on with it, Merlin."

"Well, stage one was achieved relatively easily as it seems Vivian's love spell has been broken and she doesn't want to marry you anymore anyway."

"Love spell?" asked Arthur, an expression of sublime confusion on his face, "what love spell?"

"Ah," said Merlin. He paused.

"Arthur, about you and Vivian..."


	28. Chapter 28

**Envy**

Morgana sat in her seat between Uther and Arthur; just in the right position to catch Merlin's eyes now and then in a conspiratorial smile.

In front of them, Sasthia, Anythsia and Dealthia were performing; their beautiful combined voices causing a roar of approval in the crowded Great Hall.

Arthur had intercepted one of her glances to his servant and had scowled at her; following it up with a lecture about encouraging Merlin's affections. She'd let out a peal of laughter at the irony of his admonishment.

"Arthur dear, I am the last woman Merlin is interested in," she'd said with a smile; revelling in having knowledge that he did not.

"If you say so," he'd replied sceptically, "but either way, Morgana, it's not appropriate. He's a servant for crying out loud."

She'd wanted to fire back a witty remark but Dealthia had begun to sing a solo. And everything suddenly changed.

Her clear, mature, voice pealed out across the audience; silencing even that rowdy crowd with a song about her love of music. She sang of its freedom and forms; the worlds and people that had been opened up to her because of it. She sang of her carefree life and Morgana wondered how someone like Merlin could fit into it.

She tried to catch his eye and found him staring at the singer with such adoration on his face. As Dealthia's voice soared around the Great Hall, Morgana saw a tear form and streak down his pale cheek.

She wondered what it would feel like to have that kind of affect on a man.

Would someone ever show her that much love?


	29. Chapter 29

****

A/N Being a sequel to ALaaU, ALiM is mostly concerned with Merlin and Morgana. However, since I started writing it, the one question people keep asking me is when and how Arthur is going to find out about Merlin's magic. I know broadly when but, honestly, I really don't care _how. _I've written an epic reveal already for Twelve Days (where I did care a great deal about when and how) but have no opinion for this fic. So, I have a poll on my profile about how you want Merlin's magic to be revealed in ALiM. Please vote and, if it's an idea that requires more explanation, PM me.

* * *

**The hero and the bully**

Sir Yvain saw it all unfold before his eyes. And he couldn't stop it. And he couldn't do anything to help him. And he didn't know how on Earth Merlin was going to get out of this one.

* * *

"Yvain!"

The Knight turned from where he was sparring with Sir Vidor and saw Merlin on the other side of the training field. He gave a respectful gesture to the other Knight then ran across to see what Arthur's advisor wanted.

It had been a week since the incident at the bar and Morgana's fury at their drunkenness. Yvain still felt somewhat off balance at the twin revelations of how Merlin had ignored Mellum's challenge and of his relationship with the Lady Morgana.

Yvain was sixteen and well aware that a man had, at some point, to forge his own path in life away from his parents. It was why he had sought out tourneys in various Kingdoms and why he had come to Camelot at all.

"It's time to prove yourself as a man," his father had said before he'd made the suggestion. Yvain was to forge his own way and draw his own conclusions about the rights and wrongs of this world.

Yvain quietly suspected that his father expected the opinions he formed would bear a remarkable resemblance to that of his pater.

Barely two weeks in Camelot and Yvain was already questioning everything he had been brought up to believe was good and right and it was all due to the raven-haired man beckoning him over for a word.

Merlin was a scrawny peasant and a poor fighter. He avoided conflict and ignored challenges other Knights would feel compelled to answer. He was neither married nor chaste, as Yvain had discovered the week before when Morgana's chastisement of her drunken lover had exposed their relationship.

He showed a remarkable lack of observance of the social niceties; particularly those courtesies that were due his social superiors. He was respected and admired for reasons Yvain had been unable to divine. He held the job of a nobleman and lived a nobleman's life yet he greeted servants with respect and chastised Knights and was friends with both peasants and Princes.

He was a true enigma.

"My Lord Advisor," he greeted him respectfully as he approached.

Merlin smiled slightly, "I'm not a Lord, Yvain. Merlin is fine."

"Freeman Merlin," Yvain corrected himself.

Merlin looked as though he was going to correct him again, then just smiled and moved on to the business at hand.

"Yvain, as you may know the Crown Prince and I are to journey to Mercia in a few weeks. Our peace with Bayard is fragile at the moment since he softened his stance on sorcerers in his Kingdom and we are hoping to negotiate a new truce."

"I have heard he discovered his wife's sister is a hedge witch and, instead of executing her, made a special dispensation to the law for her alone. Uther is understandably furious and their fight is threatening to disrupt the truce," said Yvain.

Merlin nodded approvingly. "It's good that you keep up on events in the Kingdom, Yvain. Many Knights see these things as being unimportant. They want only to know who to fight; not why fighting may soon become necessary. It's the reason I wanted to make you an offer."

Yvain just waited respectfully for him to finish, hoping his astonishment and confusion wasn't evident.

"We need a small contingent of Knights to accompany us to Mercia. I know you only agreed to stay in Camelot for a short period of time at the King's request but I would like you to extend your stay and come with us."

"But... excuse me, My Lord, I am not a Knight of Camelot. My loyalties..."

"Are irrelevant," interrupted Merlin. "Mercia is our ally but your King remains indifferent to its existence. Mercia is too far away from Olaf's landholdings for Bayard to have become either friend or foe."

Merlin smiled at him. "If you accept, it will give you the opportunity to travel some more. You can see Mercia and the landscape in between. We'll even travel through Ealdor; the village I come from."

Yvain smiled back, tempted despite himself. He'd never seen a peasant's life up close before and Mercia...

"I will have to request permission from my father and from my King but... I would be honoured to undertake such a quest."

"Good," said Merlin, "in that case, it's agreed."

"Thank you, My Lord."

"I'm not a Lord, Yvain."

"No, you're certainly not," said a gravelly voice Yvain instantly recognised as Mellum's.

"Oh no," he sighed, as he spied the large Knight behind Merlin.

The Prince's Advisor just gave him a wry look and turned to leave. As he spun on his heel, Mellum stepped into his path so Merlin accidentally collided with him.

"You clumsy fool," yelled Mellum; deliberately drawing the attention of the other Knights on the field. Yvain glanced around to see at least six or seven of them make their way to where Mellum was glaring at a still-calm Merlin. Unfortunately, neither Lancelot nor Arthur was among them.

"I apologise, My Lord," said Merlin politely, "I appear to have accidentally bumped into you."

"Apologies are not enough, peasant. I have had enough of your discourtesies and disrespect. You fumble around bumping into things and being generally useless. You're nothing but a pathetic dirt-scrubber who smells of cow pats yet you fancy yourself as good as noble Knights such as myself. Why the King lets you defile a noble born Lady like his Ward is beyond me. It's about time somebody taught you a lesson."

"It must be difficult being such a slave to originality, Mellum."

Yvain snickered at Mellum's look of confusion. The stupid oaf had no idea what Merlin was talking about; yet it was already obvious to him that Mellum had recycled some of those insults several times even since Yvain had been in Camelot.

Mellum saw the flicker of amusement on Yvain's face and fury settled into his features once again.

He drew off his gauntlet and threw it into the dust.

"I challenge you, dung man," he said viciously, "what do you say to that?"

Yvain looked at the other Knights to see their reactions and was concerned to see they were on Mellum's side. Most of them had as much respect for the bully as Yvain did, but a challenge was a challenge. If Merlin didn't accept, didn't fight, he would be dishonoured.

Merlin ignored the gauntlet, walked around Mellum, and started walking to the Castle leaving the infuriated man behind him.

Yvain didn't know what to do. This tactic may have worked the week before but now the Knights were mumbling among each other that Merlin had not taken up a legitimate challenge.

The word "coward" was already being whispered in shocked surprise. The support from men who would have usually backed Merlin emboldened Mellum and he picked up the gauntlet and pursued Merlin, throwing the metal glove at the back of his head.

It hit and Merlin stopped and turned around.

"I demand satisfaction, coward," seethed Mellum, "or are you the clumsy, craven fool I have always know you were."

"Fine," said Merlin, resigned. "You want to fight me?"

"Yes," growled Mellum.

"Well, I'm right here. You want to fight. Let's fight."

Mellum glanced at his audience, suddenly uncertain.

"I will not fight an unarmed man," he said angrily.

"Why not?" countered Merlin, finally raising his voice, "What's the difference? I am an untrained Physician. You are a Knight. Armed or unarmed makes little difference. You know this. So I can only assume you want to find an excuse to kill me and have orchestrated his challenge to do so. Well then, go ahead. Kill me."

"Wha....?" spluttered Mellum, "I..."

"Do you think that if I turn up at the tourney grounds tomorrow and get my brains smashed in that it will somehow make your actions honourable? That killing me there or felling me right here makes any material difference? You want me dead? Have the courage of your own convictions, Mellum and just do it. Kill me."

He pulled up close to the Knight, drew his sword for him and put it in his hand. He leaned forward so the sword was at his heart and his eyes were the same level with the man who threatened him.

"But if you think that Morgana will lay with you after you _kill me_ than you are even more of an idiot than I thought."

Yvain looked up from his astonishment and saw that Merlin had done it. The mood of the Knights had shifted and all were now definitely back on his side. Mellum had tried to use the Knight's code to murder a harmless man and had been exposed.

Mellum pulled back and dropped his sword on the ground. It landed with a clatter and he looked at his fellow Knights in turn, obviously hoping to see some support.

"He's a coward!" he yelled impotently. "He's a peasant."

"He's a better man than you," said Lancelot's voice as the Knight drew up to the group, "and was even when he was Arthur's _manservant_."

"You were Arthur's manservant?" asked Yvain curiously. Then he blushed as every man in the vicinity turned to look at him. "I guess that's not important right now."

"Mellum," continued Lancelot, "you have displayed a continued lack of the virtues required of a Knight of Camelot. In the name of Prince Arthur, I hereby request that you leave the Kingdom and not return."

"I wouldn't want to serve with such a pack of fools anyway," said Mellum. And he turned on his heel and he left.

The Knights dispersed until it was just Yvain, Lancelot and Merlin.

"Well done, Merlin," said Lancelot with a laugh, "masterfully done."

"Thanks," said Merlin with a grin.

"I saw you from a mile away and hurried over as fast as I could. I'm just grateful things turned out as they did."

"Me too, though it took some restraint."

"I can imagine," agreed Lancelot, "well, we can thank the Lord that you didn't snap and kill him. I can't even imagine what Arthur would have said."

"Wait... what?" said Yvain, "what do you mean you're glad _Merlin_ didn't kill _him_?"

Lancelot and Merlin just swapped a conspiratorial look and headed off to the castle laughing.

"Nobody ever answers my questions," muttered Yvain as he headed back to training.


	30. Chapter 30

**Blue Sky Days**

Morgana lay on her back and looked at the deep blue of the sky above her; a few white clouds scattered here and there.

She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the summer's day; the soporific affect of good food and wine, and the feeling of satisfaction that came from coupling with someone you truly loved.

She rolled her head to the side and smiled at Merlin sleeping beside her. His illness was a full month behind them but he was still recovering. He was naked; the sun gently caressing his year-old scars. They were no longer livid but she could still see the slicing wounds from the swords and the circular patch of tissue from the bolt.

"Wake up," she whispered, "you're snoring."

He smiled but didn't open his eyes.

"I do not snore."

"And how would you know?"

"Powerful warlocks don't snore."

She sighed. "I'm afraid your logic is unassailable, Mr Powerful Warlock. You're right, you don't snore. But you do fall asleep straight after we make love, which is very annoying."

He laughed at that and his lashes opened slightly to reveal eyes the colour of the summer sky.

"Maybe I do, but then so do you."

"I do not."

He nodded assuredly and then closed his eyes again.

"And how would you know? You're already asleep."

"I know everything," he said definitely.

"Well, Mr Powerful Warlock, if you do know everything then you must know what I need to tell you."

"Of course, but I'll let you say it just to make you feel better."

"When you were ill, I found out that Arthur knows about my magic."

His eyes flew open at that and he sat up suddenly.

"He what? Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright, Merlin. Would I be here on a relaxed picnic with you by this idyllic little stream if I wasn't alright?"

"But how...?"

"When I cured you the first time, he didn't understand what happened so he read the book and found out how the stone worked. He's known for a year."

"But he didn't say anything... not to you, not to me."

"He said he was waiting till I was ready to tell him. It's strange: he wasn't angry or... torn... about it at all."

She looked at the expression on her lover's face.

"It's fine, Merlin, I didn't tell him about you. That's for you to do and I think you should... and soon."

"No, I can't," he said definitely.

She gave him a look of affectionate disapproval.

"Morgana, I'm Arthur's advisor. Our relationship is based on trust. If I tell him now..."

"So you'd prefer to wait until another year or two goes by and he'll be even angrier about it?"

"No, of course not. I just... I just need some time to think about it."

"Then think quickly. This is your chance. We nearly lost you again and he's likely to be less mad when he's still feeling relief that you're even alive."

Merlin nodded; a haunted insular look on his face.

"Now, I want to talk about more important things," said Morgana, determinedly.

"Like what?"

"I want you to tell me exactly when and how and why you knew you loved me. From the beginning. In detail. Now."

"Morgana," he protested.

"Or we can go and talk to Arthur..."

"It might be preferable."

"Merlin!" She picked up on of their empty goblets and threw it at him. He responded by rolling over on top of her and kissing her.

"Don't try to distract me," she said with a smile.

"Fine," he replied, resigned, "from the moment I first saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd seen. But I was so busy saving Arthur's life every second day that I didn't really get a lot of time for thinking about that sort of thing. And then there was that incident with the Druid boy and...."

Morgana lay on her back and looked at the man she loved framed by the deep blue of the sky above her; a few white clouds scattered here and there.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N This mini-series was only supposed to be in four parts but, due to extraordinary popular demand here is a new final part... Shout out to Kizzia who wanted to see this particular scenario.**

**

* * *

**

Locking the Door Part 5

"Morgana."

"Yes, Arthur?"

"I thought I told you to lock the door."

"I know," she said facetiously and completely insincerely, "It's an unacceptable oversight and I apologise profusely."

Arthur turned to leave, paused, then turned back.

"I'm going to regret this. I know I'm definitely going to regret this, but I have to know. Evil baron's lovely ward? Princess kidnapped by Sorcerer?"

Morgana leant back against the bedpost to make herself more comfortable, despite having her hands tied above her head.

"Damsel kidnapped by Dragon."

"Why would a Dragon kidnap a damsel?"

"I'm not sure, actually. Mostly so a Dragonlord can rescue her?"

"Oh, so you're being rescued by a Dragonlord?"

"Yes, then we travel home via a circuitous route with me trying to thank him for his heroism and him insisting on being noble until finally he can't resist my charms and... you get the idea."

Arthur nodded, "is it my imagination or are these getting more convoluted?"

"We've been together three years."

"Good point. Well, I'd better go. Don't want to interrupt the rescue."

As he stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him, the newly-married Arthur suddenly thought of his wife, _I wonder if she could get unfairly imprisoned for practicing magic and I could rescue her...._


	32. Chapter 32

**Revelations**

**Part 1**

Arthur leaned forward and threw another log on the fire, trying to ignore his worried advisor sitting across from the flames.

"Oh for God's sake, Merlin," he said finally, "I know you're upset but I wish you wouldn't sit around mooning. It's not as if there's anything more we can do tonight."

Merlin raised his chin to look the Prince in the eye and then put it back down to keep staring at the ground as before.

"I'm just worried," he said, picking up a stick and using it to stir the dirt around. He looked up, giving Arthur a somewhat reproachful look.

"I would have thought you'd be worried too."

"Of course I'm worried," replied Arthur defensively, "I'm here, aren't I; in the middle of nowhere following a vague clue from an untrustworthy source with no Knights or guards to back me up. If that isn't me being worried, I'd like to know what is."

"What if..." Merlin stopped, the thought obviously giving him some pain, "... what if she's not alright? I mean, why didn't they ask for a ransom? Who would kidnap the King's Ward and not ask for a ransom?"

At that question, Arthur did look momentarily worried until the emotion was banished from his face by sheer force of will.

"According to the Druid I spoke to – and heaven forbid I should ever trust the word of a Druid – she's been kidnapped by some rogue witchfinder who used to work for my father."

Merlin gave him the same pained looked he'd cast his way when Arthur had first relayed the conversation he'd had with his so-called 'source'.

"Yes, I know, Merlin," he pre-empted him, "I was worried he knew about her magic. But apparently he's just trying to flush out some other sorcerer called... something or other. I don't remember. It starts with 'A' or maybe 'E' or something. This sorcerer's supposed to be incredibly powerful and what's-his-name's hoping to use Morgana as bait. Although why a sorcerer that powerful would help Morgana is beyond me."

Merlin quickly looked down at the ground again; a posture that Arthur unsurprisingly misunderstood.

"It's alright, Merlin," he said, soothingly condescending. "I'm here. Some washed-up witchfinder is hardly a match for a Knight of Camelot. I'll save Morgana and then we can go home and... Gods, have a bath."

That comment caused a small twinge at the side of Merlin's mouth that, in other circumstances, would have been one of his beaming smiles.

"Surely you'd need a manservant for a bath. And you keep firing them."

"Well, they keep being incompetent," growled Arthur, "they're all 'yes Sire', 'no Sire', but none of them will tell me the truth. Do you know what that... Matthew did the other day?"

"Failed to read your mind?" quipped Merlin.

"No, _Merlin_, he... well, he... oh alright, so I told him to do something completely ridiculous and he went and did it! It was a waste of time. He should have said something."

"You do know the definition of the word 'manservant' don't you, Arthur?"

"Oh... shut up, Merlin."

His advisor did smile then and Arthur smiled back, glad he'd cheered him up a bit.

"At least it's a nice night to be camped god knows where in the middle of the forest far away from civilisation or assistance."

Merlin stirred his dirt for a while and then opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it again, then said, "so, this... sorcerer beginning with 'A' or 'E', why do you think he won't come to Morgana's rescue?"

Arthur decided the stick thing looked like fun, picked up a log and began poking the fire with it, making the sparks fly.

"Merlin, I've known about Morgana's magic for just over a year now. That may seem like a long time but I'm still coming to grips with the whole 'not necessarily evil if they have magic thing'. Every sorcerer I've met, apart from her, wants to_ kill me_. Excuse me for not believing this mysterious whatever-his-name-is is going to rescue some random woman."

"What if she's not some random woman?" asked Merlin, cautiously.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what if this Emr... sorcerer knows her? What if he... lives in Camelot and he knows her. What if he cares what happens to her?"

Arthur pulled the stick from the fire and waved it at him.

"That's a good point. This witchfinder must have taken Morgana for a reason. So obviously this sorcerer is a Druid or... Merlin, this would mean there's a powerful sorcerer living in Camelot."

"How would you feel about that?" Merlin said tentatively, "finding out that some powerful sorcerer has been living beside you, maybe even for years, without your realising."

"Well, I..." Arthur paused, taken aback at the question, "I don't know. Before Morgana, I would have assumed they had some evil plan but now... I don't know, Merlin. I guess it would depend on who they were."

Merlin dropped the stick and sat up straight up suddenly.

"Arthur, I..." he began, then stopped as a man appeared behind him and clobbered him over the head.

Merlin's pale face as he hit the dirt he'd been playing in was the last thing Arthur saw before he too felt the dull thud of a blunt instrument on his skull and fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

Arthur woke up; his head throbbing and his vision blurring as he opened his eyes. He looked blearily around the room; wondering momentarily if he'd had too much to drink the previous night before remembering the blow to the head.

"Arthur!" a voice hissed urgently to his left. "Arthur, wake up."

"Ergh, what is it?" he managed groggily, "what happened?"

"Arthur, where's Merlin?"

The Prince managed finally to open his eyes enough to discern his surroundings. He was in a simple hut; probably built by a hunter to use during the summer months but obviously abandoned for some time.

There was a single rotting bed with a moth-infested blanket and two chairs; slightly more serviceable. With a growing consciousness of his situation, Arthur realised his hands and feet were chained with manacles.

"Arthur!" he heard again, the whisper more emphatic and slightly frantic, "where's Merlin?"

"Merlin?" he muttered, confused, "Merlin... Merlin should be... Merlin was with me."

"I know that. Merlin is always with you. But where is he _now_?"

"He's not here?"

Arthur finally managed to turn his head, taking in Morgana sitting nearby in a filthy dress; manacles also around her wrists and feet. She gave him a frantic look.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. We both got knocked out. He should be here."

"Well, he's not. I swear, if they've done something to him... I'll..."

"You'll what?" interjected a smoothly-confident voice. "Let me guess, you'll yell at me and try to cast pointless spells. I have to say, for a witch with friends like Emrys, you're not very impressive are you?"

"My gift is healing," spit Morgana, "which makes what I do a hell of a lot more noble than you. You're pathetic: a kidnapper and murderer."

"But not a sorcerer and so a better person than you. I know all about witches like you. You say you heal but I know what your real purpose is. You steal what people really are, you take their souls. My mother went to a witch to heal her when she was ill. My mother died screaming. And that's exactly what will happen to you. But first, I want Emrys."

The witchfinder walked into Arthur's line of sight and he gasped. He looked almost exactly like Aeridian; the yellowing hair, the black cloak, the straggling blonde beard.

"Gods, is there a rule that all you psychopaths must look alike?" gasped Arthur.

The witchfinder walked over and kicked him brutally in the stomach.

"I thought that Emrys would come after you himself. But it appears he's too cowardly to face me. So he's sent the good Prince in his place."

He crouched down and grabbed Arthur's chin, pulling it up so he could look into his eyes.

"How does it feel to know that somebody you trust is a warlock, son of Uther?"

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," said Arthur truthfully. "Where's Merlin?"

"I left the peasant at the campsite; he's immaterial. But you, Arthur Pendragon, you will tell me where I can find Emrys. And you will bring him here or the witch dies."

"I don't _know_," protested Arthur, "I hadn't even heard the name... whatever... until the Druids told me why you'd taken Morgana."

"Well then, you'd better find out and quickly. The witch refuses to speak and I don't wish to damage her too much. Can't have Emrys sensing her death. Then he won't bother at all. Now, one more time..." and he pulled back his foot and kicked him in the stomach before aiming a muscled blow at his face.

"Where is Emrys?"

"He doesn't know," cried Morgana, "magic is banned in Camelot or had you forgotten. Emrys has to hide his identity. Why would he reveal himself to the Crown Prince, for Gods' sake."

"Umm," said the witchfinder, pulling his fist back towards him and pacing away, "that is an excellent point, witch. Still, he must know who your lover is. That's right, isn't it? This Emrys is your lover? So, Prince, help me rid Camelot of two sorcerers. Who is Emrys?"

Arthur leaned back against the wall, trying to ignore the pain in his chest from where the witchfinder had undoubtedly broken a few of his ribs.

"Are you telling me that this Emrys and Morgana are lovers?"

"I'm almost sure we covered that part, yes," said the man calmly.

"I don't believe it."

"Arthur..." Morgana tried to interject.

"I just don't believe it."

"Arthur!" she tried again.

He turned to her; confusion and anger in his eyes.

"Are you telling me that...?"

"Yes," she admitted, her eyes downcast, "it's true."

"You're _cheating on Merlin!"_


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N Because reviews and begging work on all of us...**

**

* * *

**

Revelations

**Part 2**

He turned to her; confusion and anger in his eyes.

"Are you telling me that...?"

"Yes," she admitted, her eyes downcast, "it's true."

"You're _cheating on Merlin!"_

Morgana looked at him; confusion, amusement, disbelief and then fury moving across her face in that order.

"_What?"_ she seethed, her kidnapper completely forgotten.

"I can't believe you're cheating on Merlin," continued Arthur, "and gods, Merlin knows doesn't he? He suggested this Emrys cared about what happened to you. Gods, you're cheating on Merlin...."

"Arthur," Morgana tried to interject.

"... and what, just because he's a peasant he has to sit by and watch? So what? His feelings don't matter and..."

"Arthur!" she said more vehemently.

"...you can just go and... swan off and be with another man just because he happens to be some powerful sorcerer and Merlin can't do anything about it because you're the King's Ward and he's just..."

"Arthur, will you shut up!" she yelled at him.

Arthur's tirade stopped in mid-sentence as he suddenly remembered where they were. He looked up and the witchfinder was looking at him in amusement.

"Uther's son... he must be so proud."

"He's a Knight. Thinking too much can get them killed," snapped Morgana.

"Morgana, please, don't defend me," said Arthur, "Ever."

"So," the witchfinder began in his smooth, oily voice, "Merlin."

Morgana smirked at him. A day or two of imprisonment in a filthy cabin had obviously not broken her.

"Ironic, isn't it?"

"Yes, indeed. I dismissed him as unimportant. And yet..."

"And yet, what?" said Arthur. "Why are you talking about Merlin?"

"It doesn't matter. All I have to do then is wait. He'll be here soon."

"No," interrupted Arthur, cursing Morgana for selling out Merlin to protect this Emrys person, "Merlin is her _other _lover."

The witchfinder turned back to Arthur; extreme amusement clear on his craggy face. As soon as his attention was away from her, Morgana yelled a spell and her eyes glowed gold and... nothing.

"Witch's bane," whispered her kidnapper to the prince, "the cabin is lined with it. Only the most powerful sorcerer could use magic here and such a person no longer exists. Still, it hasn't stopped her _trying_ to use magic though."

"It doesn't matter," said Morgana, "when Merlin gets here you'll be sorry. Witch's bane might bind me but it won't work on him."

Oh, she was trying to _bluff_ him, thought Arthur.

He winked at her and decided to play along.

"Yep... Merlin... most powerful sorcerer in the whole land. You don't stand a chance against him. May as well give up now and let us go because boy is he going to be angry."

The captor just smiled.

"I think I'll take my chances."

At which point, Morgana grinned. Arthur knew that grin. He grinned too.

"He's he're," she sang.

And the side of the cabin blew in.

The witchfinder swung around to face Merlin, just as held up his arm toward him. His eyes flashed gold and, without a single incantation, the man went flying to the opposite wall where a set of manacles chained him up by themselves.

Merlin squatted down and undid Arthur's chains, then moved to Morgana's.

He freed her, picked her up, then turned to leave the cabin, stopping only to say....

"By the way, Arthur, I'm a warlock."

And then he was gone.

"Lord have mercy," whistled Arthur, then he picked himself up and staggered out after them.

**

* * *

**

A/N So, hopefully this satisfies the even votes on the poll for Arthur finding out his magic from Morgana, an enemy, and seeing Merlin do magic (quiet reveal). And Bricks who PMd me asking for Oblivious!Arthur. Thanks for voting guys!


	34. Chapter 34

**Influence**

In his wildest imagination, Merlin could never have imagined how well he got on with Uther.

Once he got over the mind-numbing fear that gripped him whenever the magic-hating bigot walked into the room - and as long as he avoided anything that could be construed as defending sorcery – he found the King intelligent, insightful, and passionate about the world he wanted to live in.

He'd often wondered where Arthur had gotten his better qualities. Well, here they were: a living, breathing testament to the warping effect of hate and fear on a truly great man.

If Merlin ever wanted a reminder of what could turn him into Nimueh or Edwin here it was writ large. He could hate Uther and crouch in darkened places scheming schemes or he could work with the man until the time came that he didn't have to.

Morgana may disagree with his decision and frequently criticise him for failing to act in some as-yet-unspecified way but, unless he wanted to commit regicide, unless he wanted to become a murderer, he should be the dull edge of the sword. Soften Uther's influence and groom Arthur to be a better man. That was his role. Not the hard edge; not revolution or revolt.

Influence.

He had killed of course. He had been forced to defend himself and those he cared about. But to kill in a cold and premeditated way was just not who he was. And, regardless of what Morgana shouted at him, it wasn't hers either. She had had her chance by her father's grave but had acted in the King's defence because she knew, deep down, that to strike that killing blow was wrong.

She confronted her own impatience and her need for instant gratification every single moment... and _won._ It was why he loved her so much more every day.

* * *

"You wished to see me, Sire," Merlin said as he stepped into the Solar. Uther was at the table grabbing a quick meal alone.

"Merlin, please, come in." He gestured vaguely to the seat opposite him and Merlin took his place. Uther waved at the food and Merlin declined with a simple gesture.

"Merlin," the King began, "it has been just over a year since you advised me against Arthur's marriage to Vivian. You said at the time that he was too immature for marriage. I wish to ascertain your opinion a year later.'

"Sire, I... it would help me to advise you if I knew the reason for the suddenness of this query," said Merlin, deliberately stalling. This had come completely out of the blue.

"I continue to receive proposals of marriage, many of which would be strategically advantageous. And then there is Olaf who still hopes the match can be made. He is talking of a visit to Camelot to see if his daughter and Arthur can...rekindle... their feelings for each other. As my son's advisor, I would like your opinion.

_Damn, I thought I had more time than this. Damn, damn and double damn._

"Sire," he began tentatively, "I do have one concern with all of this but I dread to speak it before you lest you think me... too affected by my own life to offer impartial advice."

"Speak, boy," grunted Uther between bites of deer, "your opinion is what I have asked for."

"Well Sire, my concern is... love."

"Love?"

"Yes Sire. I am afraid I must speak from my heart on this and not from my experience with treaties or politics. I hope you will bear with me."

Uther waved at him to continue and kept eating.

"Sire, your son has grown up knowing only one thing about his mother and that is that you loved her. He sees also Morgana and I and our happiness. I don't believe that Arthur will ever be satisfied in a life without love."

The King gave him a confused look.

"If he wants love, he can have it. That hardly has anything to do with _marriage_. He will be King one day. He can have both.

Merlin smiled softly.

"My Lord... your Highness... I do not believe that Arthur will marry _without_ love."

Uther snorted.

"Don't be ridiculous. People in our position marry without love all the time. Love is what mistresses are for. What kind of King lets his emotions for the fairer sex rule his head?"

Merlin bit his lip then met his King eye to eye.

"You did, Sire. Or do you deny that you were faithful to Ygraine?"

"How_ dare_ you..."

"I dare because I speak for your son and not for you. Your son knows of your love and fidelity for your wife. Why would he want anything less for himself than what he knows brought you such happiness? Why would he want anything less than what his peasant advisor is allowed to have?"

The King sat back in his chair and stared angrily at the black-haired man before him. Then he sagged back down.

"What do you suggest?"

"I suggest that we let Arthur try to find a bride he could love."

Uther just nodded and Merlin took a deep breath.

"No matter her station."

"What!?" he cried and stood up at the table. "Are you mad?"

Merlin looked down as if he was upset. This was the most critical part; the part he wasn't sure would work. But if he could get the King to agree to this then...

"I'm sorry, Sire, that a relationship across these boundaries is such anathema to you. I will, of course, inform the Lady Morgana that our relationship is to end."

Uther smiled and leaned forward across the table.

"Don't think I don't know what you are doing, boy. I gave you and my Ward permission to begin your... association... and I would hardly change my mind less than eighteen months later. Now, if you are trying to tell me that my son has formed an attachment to a woman of lower birth than..."

"No, Sire," lied Merlin brazenly, "I am saying... I am telling you from personal experience that love sometimes doesn't know these boundaries. I'm saying that we should tell Arthur he has a true choice. Unless you want him to marry to please you only and..."

"No," interrupted Uther, "no I don't want that. My friend Gorlois was forced to do that and he was miserable. Very well. I will let Arthur have his head and woo as he sees fit. But I warn you, Merlin, the woman he falls in love with will have to meet my approval before he is given permission to wed her. And her birth will be a significant factor in this decision."

"Yes Sire. Of course."

"Very well. It's decided. I will begin inviting _eligible _women to Camelot and see if any meet with his approval."

"Very good, My Lord," replied Merlin.

He stood up and bowed before left the table. _Influence_, he thought as he left the room, _I have influence. And I will use it._


	35. Chapter 35

**A letter**

My dearest darling Morgana,

You would never guess what news? I am married! Married this month to a Norman prince.

I am in heaven. Oh, and in France, Normandy is in France. I did wonder at first why I had to get on a boat to travel to my new husband's landholdings but now I know.

By the time this letter reaches you I will be several more months married but just as happy as I am now I'm sure. My husband is all kindness and consideration and so I rarely even have to see him!

The Court is full of wonderful ladies and we have all become fast friends. I have 8 ladies-in-waiting and they are all just delightful. I can't understand them, of course, having never learned French (Daddy thought learning another language would encourage foreign men to court me) but that's probably best at this stage.

You will never guess what, my dearest darling Lady Morgana. I asked Father if I could bring a number of horses from home and he said yes! Naturally, that required a groom and so one of our grooms came with me. You can imagine how comforting it is to have my favourite steed and a familiar face as well. I'm sure you can imagine just how happy this makes me.

I had better go. Give me regards to the King, to Arthur and to Arthur's funny little servant. You know the one.

Kisses and hugs

(Princess!) Vivian.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N Two weeks, six planes, five days off work for Easter. Enjoy the fruitage.**

**

* * *

**

The Offer

Arthur pulled his cloak closer and made sure the hood covered his face.

It was a dark night; a tiny sliver of a moon barely illuminating the dirt road leading to the inn.

Arthur swung open the doors to the tavern to reveal a dim room full of travellers, drunks and mercenaries. He'd arrived later than he'd anticipated. Still lacking a reliable servant or a squire he had struggled that morning in clearing his camp in a timely fashion.

He'd tried to talk Merlin into coming with him but his advisor was busy with other things: the kind of things the Crown Prince facilitated but did better not knowing about.

Arthur scanned the room until his eye alighted on the man he was looking for. It had been a risk coming into Cenred's Kingdom to find him but it would be worth it should he succeed. Merlin was certainly supportive of the plan once he knew that Arthur was truly fine with it.

The man was sitting by himself by the fire, a mug in his confident hands. The other patrons may be wild and drunk: he was restrained, his relaxed posture belying his wound warrior's instincts.

Arthur gestured to the barkeep to bring him ale then moved to the fireplace to sit across him. The mug sloshed in front of him and Arthur met the man's eyes, allowing him to see his face without revealing it to the rest of the bar.

"You've arrived late, friend," said the man, "the inn is full. You're unlikely to get even a floor to sleep on at this stage."

"Then I don't know what I will do," replied Arthur, "I cannot find a place to camp tonight. There are thieves and bandits on the road out of town."

"Then allow me to offer you the floor in my room. You seem a trustworthy fellow and I could use someone to assist me with the bill."

"I accept your offer gratefully."

"Now, what do you do here, friend?" asked the man in a friendly and jovial manner.

"I am looking for someone. He is a friend, a former Knight of the Kingdom of Camelot. He left to prove his worth. I am here to make him an offer."

"And what is this offer?"

"To come home. To accept the privilege of his Knightly duties back in Camelot. To take a role of leadership with the fighting men of that Kingdom."

The man smiled. "I'm sure he would be grateful for that offer. He may even frequently hope for that opportunity. But he had more than one reason for staying away and he doesn't believe those reasons have changed.

"Gwen and I are engaged, Lancelot," said Arthur bluntly, tired of the oblique conversation. "My father does not yet recognise our engagement but nonetheless it has been announced. It has been nearly five years since you left, for God's sake, nearly four since you rescued Gwen and decided not to return. You can do no harm. You are an honourable man and you belong in an honourable profession. Also..."

"Also?"

"I need those I can trust, Lancelot. And I need... I need those whom _Merlin_ can trust."

"Merlin?"

"Merlin," stated Arthur matter-of-factly. "We're creating a brave new world, Lancelot. Slowly, silently, anonymously. But we need allies. We need you."

Lancelot smiled ruefully.

"I have lain awake many a night hoping to hear those words, Arthur. In my mind, Camelot is my home and you and Merlin are my truest friends. But..."

"But nothing," Arthur interrupted him. "What is silent in our hearts stays there and as I said you can do no harm. I offer you land and peasants and a role second only to myself."

"But Leon?" protested Lancelot.

"Leon is a brave and loyal Knight but he doesn't know what we know, Lancelot. He doesn't _know_. I need someone to help and protect Merlin.

Lancelot nodded, understanding his Prince perfectly.

"Now, what do you say, Lancelot?"

The former Knight downed his ale to give himself time to think then looked Arthur directly in the eye.

"I say yes."


	37. Chapter 37

**The Innocents of Camelot **

**Part 1**

My name is Crawley. I am 16 years old. I was born in Camelot to my father who is a tanner and my mother who works in the castle as a chambermaid.

I have magic.

It is not strong magic; not magic that can confound the eyes or defy the laws that chain us to this Earth. I cannot open a door without a key nor break a chain nor stop the headman's axe.

If the King or his men knew, my death would be certain. If they knew.

At first no one suspected my gift; not even me. I cried when others were sad, was made happy by other's happiness. My parents thought simply that I was sensitive and kind. Then one day my father burnt his arm at work and I took his pain away.

It's feelings, you see, emotions. That is my gift.

I _see_ emotions as other see light and colour and form, I _hear _them as others hear the clack of hooves on the cobblestones or a strong wind or the dull thunk of the execution, I_ feel_ them as others feel the warm brush of sunshine on the first true day of spring or the velvety sensation of good food sliding down into a hungry stomach. And I can _change_ them as Gods and Kings change the world they live in to make their lives easier.

See that man over there? The one with black hair and the awkward stride who walks beside his Prince? He is a complex man despite his lowly birth. From him, I see protectiveness and concern, I hear the great weight of responsibility and the determination to be the man he believes he can be and I feel pure joy and happiness at all the good things in his life.

The man who walks beside him? From him, I see duty and loyalty and chivalry, I hear the Knight's code and a genuine love for his people and I feel a growing confusion that the certainties he has been taught from birth are not so certain.

When I look at my mother, I see love despite the hardships of life. From my father, a strange love of his messy work. From my elder brother a strange sick pleasure in the death and pain of others that makes me fear him.

I try to change what I can. I hold my brother's tendencies back, I help my mother feel her love, I assist my father to enjoy a job others would hate.

But my power is not strong, as I have said.

See that man moving confidently across the Courtyard? That is the King. I did try once. I tried to use my one true gift to ease Uther's pain and increase his love for the people in the life worthy of that love. But his suffering screams out of him like a banshee on a wild night and no matter my talents I could not tame it.

And no matter my fear, I cannot hate him. Because we cannot hate what we understand so completely. We can only pity. We can only regret. We can only hope.

That man who walked by earlier? The one with raven hair and a protective heart? From him I also see fear. Fear because of magic. Strong, wild, extraordinary magic.

If he can see the fresh proud hope in the centre of the putrid fruit and work to help that goodness flower, if he can box up hate and fear inside him and use his magic to strive for a better world then so can I.

If I could, I would ease Uther's pain. For myself. For all the other magical beings who suffer under him, for his poor confused son who no longer knows what to feel about anything. But most of all for poor sad Uther himself. Most of all.

I would if I could.

But I cannot.

So I hope.

After all, hope is all we have. In the end.

I hope I can survive another day without discovery.

I hope.


	38. Chapter 38

**Trust**

Arthur threw another log on the fire, his eyes being drawn now and then to Merlin and Morgana sitting in each other's arms by the flames.

Morgana, for all her flamboyant confidence, seemed subdued and shaken. She sat in front of Merlin on the ground, her head back against his chest, her hands interlocked with his around her waist. Arthur suspected the helplessness inspired by the witch's bane had affected her deeply. Merlin had saved her again and Arthur knew how much that dependency annoyed her.

As for Merlin and the day's revelations....

"Maybe you should get some rest," his Advisor whispered into her hair. She nodded briefly then kissed him and went to their tent.

Merlin picked up the empty plates and threw them into the warmed bucket of river water he'd collected for that purpose. Since they have made camp, he had gone about his duties as though he was still Arthur's manservant and nothing had changed.

Arthur grunted reprovingly.

"You're my advisor, Merlin, not my servant," he said finally, sharply, "and if I understand what happened today correctly you're also the most powerful sorcerer alive."

Merlin simply gave him a brief toothless smile then kept washing up.

"Even warlocks need clean plates, Arthur."

"Gods, Merlin!" said Arthur, raising his voice in sudden anger. "Four years. _Four. Years._ It's been four years since we met and more than a year since you became my Advisor. You have lied to me all that time about who you are, about what you can do. How can I trust you now? How can you sit there being so... damn ordinary?"

Merlin just shrugged.

"Stop it," Arthur demanded, "just stop it right now. If it isn't bad enough you've lied to me every day since we met, I can't stand you sitting there pretending to be... subservient. From what I saw today, you could blast me to pieces with barely a thought.

"So... what? Explain it to me? Was it fun pretending to be my bumbling manservant? Did it make you feel powerful to humiliate me like that? Was it part of some grand plan to gain my trust so you could... what?

"Merlin! Look at me. What? Why....?"

Arthur stopped his tirade suddenly, lost for words. He looked down to the dirt then took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

"I understand that magic is banned and that if I'd known.... if I'd found out at the beginning I would have turned you in. It's the law. And I respect and uphold the law. But after everything, after you nearly died saving Morgana's life, after you and I became friends, after I found out about Morgana's magic... why wouldn't you tell me then?"

"And why did you learn magic anyway? When did this start? Was it because Morgana has magic? Did you think she wouldn't love you if you weren't powerful like she is? Why would you dabble in something so dangerous?'

Merlin laid a piece of cloth on the ground to put the clean plates on to dry and then turned back to his Prince.

"Some people learn magic, Arthur, it's something they choose. I had no choice. I was born this way."

"That's not possible," interjected Arthur, "my Father...."

"Your Father is wrong, Arthur. Not completely, of course. We all know there are magic threats to the Kingdom. We all know magic corrupts some people as power always does. There are those as blinded by their hatred for Uther as he is by his hatred of them.

"But there are people for whom magic is not a choice. And no matter what he says, there are magical threats that we could not have survived without magic on our side. That's why I have hidden all these years. Because I couldn't take the chance that..."

"What? That I would have you executed?"

Merlin smiled at him then; one of his bright deep grins.

"Executed? Please. No, Arthur, afraid that I would have to leave Camelot and everyone I care about."

"If you cared about us, Merlin, then you wouldn't have lied to us. But at least you know that I would never have you executed."

"Arthur, you couldn't have even if you tried. Witch's bane can't bind me. Do you really think metal chains could? No true sorcerer with any real power could be executed by conventional means."

"But that means that..."

"I'm afraid so."

Arthur hung his head as he contemplated the hundreds of executions he'd witnessed since he reached his maturity.

"Were they all innocent?" he asked finally, quietly, subdued, restrained. Trying to ignore the small bits of his world coming down around his head.

"Since being a Druid is a crime, or consorting with a Druid is a crime, or having magic even if it is weak and you don't use it is a crime, or speaking out in support of someone accused of witchcraft is a crime, or letting a sorcerer stay in your inn overnight even though you didn't know they were a sorcerer is a crime then no, Arthur. They were all executed to the letter of the law and they were guilty of their _crimes_."

Arthur looked up at this Advisor's grim blue eyes; black in the firelight.

"Why didn't you tell me? How could you let innocents be executed when..."

"When what, Arthur? I've told you a hundred times. You told me I couldn't possibly know anything about magic and its insidious corruption. And anyway, even if you had believed me, what could you have done? This is still Uther's kingdom. You can change his mind about many things. This law is not one of them. I know that things will be different when you are King. So I protect the innocents of Camelot by protecting you."

"_You_ protect _me_?"

"Yes, Arthur."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Excuse me? You wouldn't be alive right now if it wasn't for me."

"Fine," the Prince said sarcastically, seemingly forgetting that a minute ago he was furious at Merlin for lying to him for so many years, "_You_ protect _me_. When? How?"

"You know, Arthur, this has been a big day and that is a long conversation."

"Then bore me," he demanded.

Merlin grinned despite himself.

"I thought you hated the long version. Didn't you tell me you wanted my reports to be concise?"

"True," conceded Arthur. "So, 'Merlin protects Arthur', the abridged version."

Merlin nodded.

"So, the abridged version..."


	39. Chapter 39

**The servant's servant**

Malcolm trod sadly behind his Prince, his boots making a disconsolate thwacking sound on the cobblestoned streets. It was market day and the busy laneways and byways of Camelot were thronged with farmers from the villages come to sell their wares.

Arthur cursed the bustling crowd, the children that ran under his feet, the blowsy windswept women who swore at potential customers for being stingy even as they clasped a nursing child to their breast.

He cursed most of all the poor, sad, disappointed ten-year-old child trailing behind him. On most days, Malcolm was philosophical about the fact that he was such a disappointment to his father. He was different but he knew that and accepted it as fact. But to have Sir Erec refuse so brutally to allow him to do what he wanted to do with his life...

"Damn it, this is Camelot. If freemen can be advisors and Court Physicians than this is possible as well."

"S...S... Sire?" inquired a small wavering voice from behind him. "Are you talking to me?"

"I'm sorry, Malcolm, I didn't mean to speak out loud. Have you seen Merlin yet? He was supposed to be here buying some herds or vegetables or offal or... something."

"Comfrey. It's a herb that helps ease ailments of the skin."

Arthur stopped and turned to the small chubby boy.

"That's very impressive, Malcolm. Did Merlin teach you that?"

He just nodded his round blonde head sadly and Arthur could have cursed his father's stupid arrogant pride.

Sir Erec may be a minor nobleman in service to an unsuccessful Baron on land that was not very fertile but he was still a nobleman and a former Knight of Camelot. He had managed to scrape together the funds he needed to train and equip his eldest two sons as Knights but, with three daughters needing dowries as well, his coffers had been unable to stretch to the younger two.

He had called in favours from various friends who were willing to support his third son; a great strapping lad who had defeated one of his older brothers in a training session at the tender age of nine. He was Knight material and Erec's old comrades-in-arms had been happy to help.

But Malcolm? Malcolm was short even for his age and tubby, his baby fat still sitting stubbornly around his face and stomach and stubby legs. He preferred reading and solitary rides to fighting and, although his natural good nature and desire to please had seen him in the training yards for hours every single day, he had failed to improve.

Sir Erec had tried to rally the support of his friends to find Malcolm a position as a Squire so they could support him as they had his elder brother. All of them, upon viewing the lad, had regretfully declined.

Determined, however, that Malcolm should pursue the one vocation Erec believed was worthwhile for a son of his, he had offered his services to Arthur while his manservant was ill, hoping that the experience would improve his son and maybe even that the Prince would see his way to making him _his _Squire.

Instead, he had been furious to learn, the boy had become almost... enamoured... of the Prince's peasant manservant and, now that the servant had somehow managed to attain the position of Prince's Advisor and Physician's apprentice, had decided he wanted to be his servant and his assistant.

When Erec discovered that the Prince actually supported this decision he had gibbered with rage. A ragged messenger had arrived from his estates just the day before to demand that Malcolm return home immediately to receive further instruction in the arts of war.

Arthur had protested, loudly, and Merlin was furious to the point of speechlessness, which was, to Arthur's mind, quite a feat. Malcolm had sobbed into his pillows that night until he went to sleep. But Uther had backed his landholder up and had berated Arthur publicly for supporting such an absurd notion.

"Honestly, Arthur, how could you support such an absurd notion? The boy may be useless but he is useless nobility. You would have him cleaning up after a servant, a boy with no connections and no family."

"You thought he was good enough for Morgana," countered Arthur.

"Nobody is questioning his worth or his loyalty," replied Uther tiredly, "just his birth. He is a peasant. Malcolm is not. Having a member of a noble family lower himself to serve someone of such inferior stock is completely inappropriate. I'm surprised you countenanced such a notion for even a heartbeat."

"I countenance it because he's smart and because it's what he wants, father," said Arthur through clenching teeth. "He will never be a Knight and so his father will never be happy. I do not see the reason why they should _both_ be miserable for the rest of their lives. Besides, Merlin needs a servant."

"I think we're both aware that Merlin needed a servant even when he was a servant," said Uther wryly. Arthur felt his lips twitch at that despite himself.

"I agree with you, Arthur. I do. But the world just doesn't work like that. Erec and Malcolm will both be miserable. Such is life. Now, get the boy ready to return to his father."

"But Father..."

"The discussion is over, Arthur. You are dismissed.'

A woman laden down by a basket of turnips bumped into him, sending vegetables flying and disrupting his thoughts.

"I really am going to have to go home, aren't I?" uttered a small voice of woe behind him.

"I'm afraid so, Malcolm," Arthur found himself saying. He wanted desperately to comfort the small boy but knew a lie would not help him.

He watched in astonishment as the boy nodded thoughtfully then raised his chin and met his gaze stoically.

"Then I have to go home and become a Knight. If that's what will make my father happy then that's what I'll do. Besides, both the King and my father agree and that leaves only the Gods to make a judgement. In my experience, they tend to side with Kings and fathers."

Arthur broke into a wide grin, as much at Malcolm's maturity as at his religiosity.

"That's my experience too, unfortunately. But you never know. Maybe the Gods disagree. Now, let's go find Merlin."

Malcolm nodded and the two walked off into the chaotic maze that was market day in Camelot.

And when Sir Erec's heart failed that night and his impoverished widow suggested Malcolm return to Camelot to take up the post of Merlin's servant and assistant, neither he nor Malcolm mentioned the will of the Gods. Despite temptation. Not once.


	40. Chapter 40

**Plague**

It had seemed perfect at first. Morgana would accompany Merlin to see his new patients. He would be the Court Physician's assistant; she would be the King's Ward showing a welcome devotion to the people of her Kingdom.

After eighteen months, their relationship was an open secret anyway. To many of the people, he was still Camelot's hero – bearing hideous scars as testament to his courage and sacrifice – and she was 'Morgana the Beautiful' who had dared to thwart convention to nurse a servant back to health. As a consequence, her presence at their bedside was not considered strange or mysterious at all. They would be shocked, however, to know just how often their cures were due not to his doctoring but to her magic.

"I can _help_ people, Merlin," she gushed in bed one night, "I can actually do something constructive to make their lives better. I can be like you. I can be _better_ than you. I can _heal_."

Merlin had just rolled over onto his side and supported his head with one hand as he smiled at her enthusiasm. It was dark and there was barely any moonlight but he could see her clear white face framed by her dark hair as she lay on her back her hands waving in the air in her excitement.

She looked at him then gave a frustrated grunt at her own inability to express herself.

"I don't mean _better._ Of course I don't. You're a healer too. A good healer. And you're better than me at magic in every way, shape or form. Except this one thing. I mean, sometimes I feel as though my magic is redundant because you're so much more skilled at everything. But this? This means there is something in this world I can do better than anybody, Merlin, even you. I can heal. I am a healer."

She rolled over to face him; her pose matching his.

"Sir Lithgow today. He didn't know it but he had a tumerous growth in his stomach. I could see it, I could sense it. When you asked me to take his pulse, I let my magic flow into him and I felt the growth break up and flow out through his bowels. He'll have terrible diarrhoea the next few days but he will _live_."

Merlin smiled and leaned forward to kiss her on the nose.

"I don't think I have ever seen you this excited, Morgana. And I'm glad but..."

"I know," she interrupted him, "Sir Lithgow is an old man and if it wasn't this it would be something else. But I don't want to cure old age, Merlin. He may die at the same time but his last few months will be free from pain. That's worth something."

Merlin just nodded, took her free hand in his and squeezed. It was worth something.

Or at least she thought it did. Until the plague came.

It started as a rumour on the wind. A few whispered voices here and there in the markets and taverns about an illness in the outlying villages.

The infected got a sudden high fever and purple skin patches and all of them died within a week of being infected. Every single one. As the first cases hit Camelot and she recognised the symptoms, Morgana soon realised the illness was completely natural and there was only one survivor. Merlin.

Somehow, Merlin had contracted this illness within Camelot before anyone else and she had cured him. Gaius had never seen the malaise before and there was no cure that they could find. They could also find no cause so assumed it was passed through physical contact alone.

Uther was convinced it was a magical illness and nothing Gaius or Merlin said to the contrary made any impact on him. The executions began afresh and, between the mass graves for the burning dead and the corpses being thrown on Uther's pyres, the body count began to rise.

The illness hit the young and old and the infirm first. Sir Lithgow was struck down almost immediately, stomach tumour or no stomach tumour. The next victims were newborn babes or children and Merlin immediately insisted that Gaius and Malcolm confine themselves to the Physician's chamber to "find a cure".

When Uther protested at his Court Physician being confined, he found himself faced with a determinedly-resolute Merlin who, he suddenly realised, he was quite proud of. Who would have thought the bumbling fool who had once been thrown into the stocks three times in as many days for blinding stupidity would grow into this man?

"As well as confining those who are well, we need to isolate the sick and try to prevent them interacting with the uninfected. It's cruel and brutal but it needs to be done. I suggest a sanatorium where the infected can go to be cared for so their family members do not risk their own lives in treating them."

"Very well, Merlin, but who will staff this sanatorium?"

"I will. Morgana will. Gwen will. I'm sure there will be others."

The King nodded to a point left of Merlin's ear and he turned to find Leon, Caradoc and Peregrine had stepped forward to volunteer. Beside him, he felt Arthur stir as though to move and he put his arm across his chest.

"I'm sorry, Sire, but the people need to see you well. You are their future and without a future they have no hope. You will stay somewhere where you can be safe."

"But these are my people," Arthur protested, "I can't just sit around. I need to do something to help."

"You help by living and staying healthy," declared Merlin in a tone that brooked no argument. He turned back to the King.

"This should be enough to get us started but we will need more volunteers soon."

"My wife will help also," said Caradoc. "She and I do nothing without the other anyway."

The King nodded and they were all dismissed. Merlin went back to his chambers determined to find the cause or a cure and instead found Morgana sitting in a darkened room.

"Three people were executed today for conspiring to use witchcraft," she whispered to him as he walked in the door behind her. She was staring resolutely at the window with, he realised, her back to the bookcase. The floor, the table, the bed – all were strewn with books.

"They were two sisters and their younger brother. Their mother and father and their newborn sister are all struck down. They just wanted them to be well again and they didn't care. Now the whole family will be dead soon. And it's _my fault_."

"Morgana, it's not your fault," he found himself saying almost automatically, "you didn't start this plague."

"Maybe not but I could stop it. I could cure everybody," she snapped her fingers together, "like that. I've done it before. And maybe if the plague was gone, the executions would stop for a while too. There is so much death, Merlin, and I could stop all of it."

"I've been down this road before, my love, and I can tell you it doesn't end well. Uther will yell witchcraft as loudly and as long if everyone is suddenly cured as he did when they were ill. There's no point saving people from plague only to have them executed."

He sat down on her lap and began to gently massage the back of her neck.

"My problem is that plagues happen but Uther sees sorcery in everything. If I could only convince him this was natural..."

He sighed and shook his head.

"Now come. Magic is satisfyingly simple but, the truth is, medicine is hard work. We should get back to it."

"I don't want to get back to it. I don't know how you do it. I'm not even entirely sure I _like_ that you're able to do it."

"Do what?"

"Just let things happen when you could stop them. How can you watch these atrocities unfold and not _act_, Merlin. The whole world could be better if you snapped your fingers but you refuse to."

"I don't believe that making the world a better place is so simple, Morgana. Nothing that simple can turn out well. And I do act but I have to be cautious and careful. If Uther found out about my magic..."

"He'd what? Execute you? I'd enjoy watching him try. You could overthrow him and take the throne tomorrow and nobody could do anything about it. Then Arthur could rule and magic come back to the land as was foretold and..."

"And what?" he asked her seriously. "What kind of Kingdom would that be? How would Arthur feel if I used magic to kill his father? Will I overthrow a murderer with murder?"

"The dragon asked me to free him, did you know?"

"Yes. I heard him," he tapped his forehead, "in here."

"Maybe I should. Or maybe I should find someone to do what you won't."

"And maybe you should get some sleep. You're overwrought. I know you want to help everybody, Morgana, but the best way to do that is to find a cure or the cause. Now, I'll work on it for a while. You lie down and try to rest."

She looked at him then, grey-green eyes piercing blue ones.

"How much preventable death do I have to watch before I can act, Merlin? How many innocents must march to the slaughter before I go mad with my own impotence?"

She slid him off her lap then stood up and threw on a nightgown and crawled into his bed.

"Or with yours."

She lay down and slept and dreamed a strange dream where she had blonde hair and wielded her magic with impunity and when she woke up, Merlin was giving her a worried look.

"The plague is cured," he whispered to her. "I don't know how but all of a sudden everybody just got better. Uther is convinced it's witchcraft. He's rounded up all the infected who came to the sanatorium and..."

Merlin stopped then dropped into the chair near the bed, mirroring her pose from the night before.

"And what, Merlin? What happened?"

"He says that one or more of them are in league with a sorcerer or are a sorcerer themselves. He's executing them all. Every single one of them."

Morgana remembered her strange dream from the night before. She did not know how but she had done this. She had wanted it and it had happened.

"It's my fault," she whispered.

And Merlin gave her a piercing look. And he didn't disagree.


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N I know, I'm terrible for recycling OCs through my fics. Did 'Damsels are Distressing' happen in the ALaaU universe? Well, no, but it could have. This is for all those people who requested more Princess Jaquelyn.**

**As for this chapter, it kept insisting on going in strange directions. I think I've reigned it in but it still went to unexpected places.**

**

* * *

**

Love and marriage and other oxymorons

Her name was Jacquelyn. She was a Princess from the Isle of Sky and she was beautiful. When she entered the Court at Camelot and made the perfectly-calculated signs of deference to a King who was only slightly her social superior, half the men there were struck dumb by her golden hair, bright blue eyes, clear strawberries-and-cream complexion and perfect features.

Merlin's jaw dropped and Morgana simply smiled at him affectionately. He was such a dope for a pretty face. After nearly two years she'd lost the ridiculous jealousy at his reaction to other woman and now just found it amusing. She knew she'd ask him about it tonight and he would barely even remember the girl's existence.

Gwen, however, was a different issue. Her maid was standing at the back of the Court with the other servants with a look of pure misery on her face. Morgana knew Gwen would never admit it, but she was secretly hoping that every potential bride Uther invited to Camelot in would be hideous.

Morgana, unfortunately, had no way to comfort her. To her mind, Arthur had grown up around some of the most beautiful women in the world and had remained steadfastly uninterested until he met Gwen who was, at most, pretty. At most.

Telling someone she considered a friend that Arthur was not interested in beauty because he wouldn't have otherwise fallen in love with her was hardly comforting and not at all appropriate. So she stayed silent and Gwen suffered as each stunning and eligible lady or princess came to stay.

Still, jealously was pointless, Morgana reasoned. After all, nothing was gained by the emotion but personal suffering and pressure on the relationship she wanted to survive. Gwen would be better off greeting each visitor with calm equanimity and showing grace under pressure.

And anyway... wait, was that _woman_ looking at her Merlin? She was. King Fendrel was giving Uther an official greeting and she, _she_, the supposed Princess was staring, not at the blonde handsome Prince in front of her, but at his _servant_. Well, ok, his Advisor now but really! That scheming, manipulative bitch. How dare she?! With her perfect skin and her perfect hair and her perfect...

"And this is my Ward, the Lady Morgana," she heard Uther's voice say from beyond the long-black tunnel of fury.

"It's my pleasure to welcome you to our Kingdom," she found herself saying. A_nd if you don't take your sparkling perfect blue eyes off my man I will boil you in oil._

Jacquelyn gave her a bright and genuine smile and then bowed and left the Court with her father. Morgana ignored the look of confusion on Merlin's face when she gave him an angry glare and stormed back to her chambers.

* * *

Jacquelyn sighed and looked at the quail on her plate.

"I don't suppose you can guarantee that no birds were harmed in the making of this dish," she said with a mock sadness.

"Excuse me," inquired Morgana in spite of herself. She had been determined to ignore the woman all evening but random offbeat comments like this had finally gotten to her.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. We need to eat to live and I love the taste of poultry. It's a rare delicacy for us because we live on an island. But they leave their beaks on when they cook them and then I think of little live squabbling things collecting sticks and leaves for a nest... or... something similar. And they have eggs with babies in them and husbands and wives and families and a home and then we come along and kill somebody's mother or uncle or something and bake it in an elderberry sauce."

She looked sadly down to the meal in front of her and then sliced off a piece of meat and chewed it slowly, a look of ecstasy on her face.

"Gods, I love elderberry sauce. And it is supposed to be very helpful in treating common malaises such as influenza."

Morgana laughed despite herself.

"You sound like Merlin."

"Merlin?" Jacquelyn asked as she took a sip of wine.

"Arthur's Advisor."

"Oh, is that his name?" asked the Princess as her eyes drifted to the table where Malcolm was tending to his master and then jerked back again.

And she forked another piece of meat into her mouth and chewed in slow enjoyment.

"Umm, elderberries."

* * *

As much as Morgana hated to admit it, she liked Jacquelyn. And worse, she knew that she was not alone. Gwen liked her despite grappling every day with the fact that Arthur like her. And Merlin liked her. As much as she hated to admit it, Merlin liked her a lot.

They had similar interests and dispositions; a positive and optimistic attitude to life and a quirky sense of humour that gloried in the absurdities of it. No matter her relationship with him, she had never made him laugh like Jacquelyn made him laugh.

And though she looked for it in her manner, she saw no ulterior motives or scheming in the other woman's behaviour. She seemed to be just as open and guileless as she appeared.

Morgana stood at her window watching Arthur, Merlin and Jacquelyn return from a ride. It had threatened rain and so she and Gwen had declined the invitation. Now she had to watch as they dismounted in the Courtyard laughing in comfortable companionship over their sopping clothes.

"He's going to marry her, isn't he?"

Morgana turned to Gwen who had joined her at the window, basket in hand. The possible future Queen of Camelot, forced to do laundry.

"You don't know that," protested Morgana.

"No, I do," said Gwen, resignedly. "She's not like Vivian. She's perfect. She's intelligent and kind and gets on well with everyone. And she's incredibly beautiful. The people will love her. And her pedigree is perfect, her father's Kingdom wealthy and peaceful with many allies in the Northern Kingdoms. It would be a perfect strategic match and Uther would give permission for their wedding in a heartbeat."

"That may be true, Gwen, but he doesn't love her. And that matters to him."

"Maybe he doesn't love her now," and she looked down at the three of them laughing as they removed wet cloaks and ruffled each other's soaked hair, "but he could. He easily could. She'd make it easy."

And what could Morgana say as she looked down at the man she would never be allowed to marry; a man who had laughed more in the last three weeks than he had in the last two years? _I don't think it's Arthur she wants, _she thought_. I don't think she's interested in him at all._

* * *

Maybe she was being kind and welcoming to a guest in her guardian's castle. Maybe she was thinking that if Jacquelyn was dining in her quarters then she wasn't dining with Merlin and Arthur. Either way, she had invited the princess to a private meal in her rooms and she now sat across the table from her.

She'd served her chicken with an elderberry sauce and the princess had laughed as she'd seen the poultry dressed with her favourite sauce.

"Oh, it's such a crime to enjoy the flavour of a helpless creature so much. It's like rabbit or venison. I just love food far too much."

She popped a chunk of chicken in her mouth, took a sip of wine, and said, to Morgana's astonishment, "So, I wanted to talk to you about magic."

"Magic?" gasped Morgana, suddenly terrified.

"It was a bit of a shock to walk into Uther's Court and see Merlin. Such a powerful magical aura. I nearly died. And I would die in a very literal way if Uther knew I could sense magic so don't worry, I won't tell. About him or you."

"You can sense magic?" whispered Morgana in astonishment.

Jacquelyn shook her head as she took another bite of chicken.

"No, it's more like I can see it. I mean, everyone has some so they all... glow... a little bit but Merlin? I've never seen a light so bright. Yours is not far behind in intensity but a different colour; kind of green and red. But his... his is as bright and pure as a perfect summer's day."

Morgana opened her mouth to bombard the woman with a thousand questions but shut it again. She didn't even know where to start.

"It's a shame really," sighed Jacquelyn.

Morgana simply waited for her to finish her thought not trusting herself to speak. Why did every woman who had some sort of power of perception fall instantly in love with _her_ man? It was so unfair.

"If he had been the Prince this would be so easy. But I don't think my Father would let me marry anything less than a member of a royal family. Even if he is a nobleman..."

"He's not," interjected Morgana, trying to keep her temper. Didn't Jacquelyn know who Merlin belonged to? Of all the people to confide in... "He's a freeman."

"A _peasant_? How on Earth did he get such a position? No, let me guess. Talent, loyalty, intelligence, integrity, honesty..." she sighed again. "My mother was a romantic, you know? She died when I was 13 but she used to say that when I met the man I wanted to be with I would just _know_. And she was right.

"Oh, well, marriage has nothing to do with love after all. I mean, anyone with half a brain can tell that Arthur is in love with Gwen. I suppose I'll have to marry him and he can have his servant girl. And I can at least be near Merlin even if I know he loves you and would never be interested in me."

Morgana just looked at her disbelieving.

"Why on Earth are you telling me this?"

"I guess it's so you know. I know you've sensed what I feel. I want you to know you have nothing to fear from me. Merlin treats me like a younger sister anyway. He would hardly notice me when he has you."

"And you're happy to do this? To marry a man you don't love and spend your life so near to... I don't even know how to express what that would be like for me."

Jacquelyn smiled. "Arthur is handsome and noble and his Kingdom is a wonderful place to live. Being the Queen of Camelot and married to a man I _like_ is infinitely preferable to being a queen of somewhere else I don't like with a man I loathe. And those are my only options. Do you think that disappointed loves and complicated relationships are not in every Kingdom? They are, Morgana. I prefer these ones to the more sordid ones I've seen."

Morgana looked down at the hands clasped in her lap.

"So you will propose marriage to Arthur?"

"My father will begin negotiations, yes. As to whether Arthur will agree to the marriage when he does not love me... I don't know. But I needed to speak to you about it anyway.

"Now, I thank you for the wonderful meal but I must go and let Arthur know what I intend to do. He needs to be aware of what is going to happen so it is not a surprise. And, if he really wants to marry your servant then maybe this will give him the impetus he needs to do something about that."

She gulped down the last swallow of wine then turned to leave.

"Do you really think he loves me that much?" Morgana found herself asking as the other woman got to the door. "I often wonder. There was... someone else once. She was a lot like you. Perceptive. Forthright. But a free spirit and so they would never work out. But you have all the things he loved about her and the things he loves about me as well."

"That may be true," conceded Jacquelyn, "but he's never going to notice that because he's not looking. And yes, he loves you that much."

And she opened the door and left.

* * *

"Morgana!"

The King's Ward opened her eyes as she felt a weight throw itself on her bed.

"Morgana!"

"Gwen? Gwen, what are you doing?"

Her maid was sitting on the bed next to her bouncing up and down in excitement.

"Oh Morgana, I barely know how to..."

She leaned forward and hugged her mistress then climbed into bed with her.

"Gwen, what on Earth has gotten into you?"

Her maid took a deep breath then gusted her answer out with her breath.

"Arthur proposed to me, Morgana. He has no permission from Uther of course and any wedding would be ages away if it happens at all but... oh Morgana, I'm engaged!"


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N I know, ridiculous updating, right? What can I say? Six flights and then five days off work. And I find writing so relaxing.**

**

* * *

**

The Innocents of Camelot

**Part 2**

My name is Bevan Bowyer. Yes, my parents gave me that name. I am 27 years old. I was born in Camelot to my father who is a bowyer like his father before him. My mother died during the Great Purge. She was a healer with an extensive knowledge of herb lore and an instinctive gift for healing. That was enough for her to be executed.

I have magic too.

It is strong magic in its way, but only in its way.

From the time I was young, I could _feel _wood. My father would be working with the bows and I would know what they _wanted_. It's almost as though the wood was alive; as though it had personality or a potential that leapt out to my mind.

I touch the warm grain of the freshly-cut branch and I see animals or flowers or people or great beasts that live only in people's overactive imaginations. I run my hands along the bark's rough surface and the piece takes shape between my deft fingers.

When I was little, this would happen without thought or will on my part as though it was the wood itself that used me to give it shape. My father lived in terror that I too would be thrown on Uther's pyre.

But I learned to control it as I grew and toiled alone so no one knew exactly how my beautiful pieces came to live.

We sell them now, my wood carvings. My beautiful pieces of art that I carve without tools, even without thought.

If they came for me, I could not fight them with this gift. If they came for me, I would die.

But I would have spent my life bringing the wood to life. I have spent my life creating things that are beautiful, things that bring joy to others.

And so, should Uther throw me on the pyre to follow my mother into death, it would be worth it.


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N So, for anyone who's interested I've put a contents list on my profile that puts these chapters in chronological order. When the story is over (and that is a very long way off), I'll post the contents as the last chapter.**

**

* * *

**

Third Way

"Merlin, I've been thinking."

"Who are you and what have you done with Arthur?"

Merlin paused, waiting for the riposte, and knew when it didn't come that Arthur was serious.

"I'm serious, Merlin."

"Yes, Sire."

"I've been thinking about everything. And I just don't know what to think."

"About what?"

"Magic. The law. Good. Evil. Chaos. Order."

"Heady thoughts," said Merlin, thinking he should at least say something. He looked at Arthur standing leaning against his windowsill as he did only when something was truly bothering him. He was dressed in chainmail and had obviously been planning to go to jousting practice. Merlin knew it had ended several hours ago.

"My father believes magic means chaos. You and Morgana believe magic is natural and inevitable. As such, no matter how much order we impose it will never be wiped out. Evil sorcerers attack us every other week but innocents also die while we stand by and watch."

"It's a difficult path we walk," agreed Merlin. "I know Morgana struggles with it a lot. She believes there should be something we can do. She's just learning, as I once did, that there is no easy answer."

"No, no easy answers. But maybe a third way. A way between order and chaos. A way we can continue to protect the Kingdom but stop the innocents from being killed."

"Which is?"

"Gods, I don't know, Merlin," he swung around frustrated, the pitch of his voice rising. "You're the educated one and my Advisor. You think of something. That's how this works, doesn't it? We've been doing it for two years. Hell, we've been doing it for nearly five. I deal with military strategy, conventional problems, and commanding the Knights and guards. You deal with the more... esoteric... situations."

"Did you just use the word 'esoteric'?"

"Well, I'm upset. There's no need to tell anybody."

The two of them shared a look then, one blonde and angry, the other dark and amused, and then they both burst into almost-hysterical laughter.

After a moment, Merlin wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at his master thoughtfully.

"I'm assuming you don't want to wait until you are King?"

"That could be years, Merlin. I have to do something now. I have to set something in place that I can draw on when I finally take the throne."

"I have been considering something for a while."

"I guess that's why I'm still not married to Gwen. You've been thinking of other plans."

Merlin just smiled at the reference to the hated "plan" but continued outlining his other idea.

"A caravan. An escape route for those who have magic or consort with sorcerers but who do no harm."

Arthur leant back against the window sill and waited for Merlin to continue.

"We find and locate those with magic or those who are at risk of being put on Uther's hit list. Then we smuggle them out of Camelot to somewhere safe."

"I don't know, Merlin, that's a bit dangerous. If they do oppose my father they could band together and strike back as a force."

"And they could be found," added Merlin, "so it's not safe for them to be together. No, we'll have to ferry them to different places. Keep family groups together if we can but find them several places to hide. And we'll need help from people we can trust. We need allies both inside and outside Camelot."

"Inside is hard enough, Merlin, but outside? Where do we even start?"

Merlin smiled. Arthur knew that smile. It meant there was something he should have known long ago that Merlin hadn't gotten around to telling him.

"We start with the kingdom of Selice in the North."

"Selice? Isn't that King Hoschelice's court? They're known for their music and their liberality. Why on Earth would he help us?"

"Music, liberality, and a greater tolerance for magic. Besides, Hoschelice would not help us. But Dealthia would."

"Dealthia? The singer? She came to Camelot once, for only a few weeks almost, what, three years ago? Why on Earth would she help us? Merlin, what aren't you telling me?"

His Advisor took a deep breath.

"Arthur, about me and Dealthia..."


	44. Chapter 44

**Destiny**

What is this thing called destiny?

In the beginning, I accepted it as a child accepts all the things around them as simply _being_. I was still a child and needed someone to tell me that the world was the way it was. I needed someone to tell me what to do.

But now, the concept of destiny is not something I understand. It is a child's fantasy; the fantasy that things are natural and inevitable and that there are strict determined rules set by someone somewhere who looks and sounds like our parents.

I am a man. And so I ask you. If things are, then how can anything I do change that? And if they are not? If I am, as you say, require to act as you dictate, then there is chance, there is hope, there is an unwritten future that we create through our actions.

What are these things written about me? Where are they? Who wrote them? Why should I believe that they have more value than what I feel and think and hear from those I care about?

Should some ancient text written by someone I don't know and whose motives I am unaware of influence my life?

Should I say 'I am Merlin, it is written' or 'I am Merlin, this is right or wrong or not so easy a decision'?

Someone somewhere scratched some words upon a parchment and now I must wield my power of life and death based on its ravings alone?

Should I murder a child? A King? A lover? Should I stand by while atrocities are perpetuated because of this strange thing called destiny?

I will not deny that, even as I railed against your orders, I still believed that destiny was real. I still protected Arthur because it was written. I still felt guilt about leaving Mordred alive or loving Morgana or refusing to stand by while Uther was murdered. I believed I acted against destiny.

But now I stand before you and I say it stops.

I may not know the answers to what the future holds but neither do you. Not really. You delivered your pronouncements with such assurance that it held all of our doubts at bay.

Yet in this one barbarous act you have shown yourself no better or no wiser than any of us. You have spent the last seven years telling me your role is to help me protect Arthur and his legacy and yet your actions today threatened his life. In fact, for all your arrogant decrees and alignment of yourself with what _is_, you have shown yourself to be as petty and as torn as Uther himself.

I stand before you and I say it stops now.

There is no such thing as destiny.

I protect Arthur. I love Morgana. I tolerate Uther. I am guided by Gaius. I mourn my father and the good men you have slaughtered today. And I refuse to execute Mordred because of something he has not yet done.

There is no such thing as destiny. I do these things because _I_ have decided, because _I_ have a choice. Because I am no longer a child.

I choose to let you live. But you shall leave Camelot and never return.

And if I am lucky, I will never hear this ridiculous, meaningless word 'destiny' again.

Goodbye Kilgharrah.

I hope that after 1000 long years of life you will finally find peace and a purpose of your own.


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N So, to set your minds at ease nice and early, I've decided this piece on Mercia will work best as a mini-series within the overall arc. So stay tuned because, for the next few chapters, it's going to be all Mercia all the time.**

**

* * *

**

Mercia Part 1

Yvain kicked his horse to speed it up to a trot and pulled up beside Merlin's mount. The group moved down the narrow canopied path slowly, forced to go single or double file through the denser forest.

He noticed the Prince's Advisor was unusually morose, especially since their journey to Mercia would take them though his home village. The young Knight looked around at Morgana riding in the back of the group with her new maid beside her. Yvain racked his brain but for the life of him he couldn't remember the blowsy redhead's name. Adira? Amelia? Ava? Maybe Jocelyn?

He was not entirely sure why Morgana was accompanying them anyway. It hardly seemed appropriate for the sensitive diplomatic mission they were on. Should relations between Bayard and Arthur sour, they could end up fighting their way out of the Kingdom.

Still, Yvain thought as he took in their group, they would put up a proud fight. He may be raw but he had proven himself more than once in the tourneys and even in battle. And Lancelot, second only to Arthur in the Kingdom, was riding elegantly beside his Prince with Caradoc and Sir Tristan chatting behind him. All were seasoned warriors with intelligence and cunning as well as skill. Merlin had chosen Arthur's retinue well.

Yvain craned his head round for a moment.

Peregrine and Percival rode behind Morgana with Vidor and Arthur's current manservant bringing up the rear. Peregrine gazed adoringly at the King's Ward, while Percival seemed more admiring of Lancelot. He cast the other Knight appreciative glances every now and then when he thought nobody was looking.

Everyone knew of Percival's preferences, of course, but Yvain thought he was the only one who suspected that his affections had been hopelessly engaged by someone who would never return his feelings.

As for Vidor... Yvain glanced at Merlin wondering if his moroseness was due to the small satisfied glances Vidor was sending Morgana's way. Even in the few months he had been in Camelot, he had grown used to the quiet, unspoken _certainty_ of Merlin and Morgana's relationship. It was as though it was a glue that held Camelot together.

He'd known of Vidor's feelings, of course, but Mellum's brash, inappropriate propositions had masked Vidor's more restrained wooing. Now he was acting as though he'd had some success and it made Yvain uneasy.

"Are you looking forward to seeing your home, My Lord?" Yvain said, more to start conversation than out of any serious desire to have the question answered.

Merlin smiled at that and Yvain was glad to see the familiar sight.

"I'm not a Lord, Yvain, but yes, yes, I am. I miss my mother a great deal. I haven't seen her since Arthur's wedding."

"What was it like? I mean... um," he stopped and gave a quick embarrassed look at the other man's profile.

"What was it like growing up as a peasant?" finished Merlin.

Yvain blushed as only someone with his complexion could.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, I..."

Merlin waved his apologies away.

"I was born a peasant and I am not ashamed of it. But to tell you what it was _like_... I don't know because I didn't know anything else. I think... I think it doesn't matter where or how you grow up so long as you can be sure of the people around you. I had my mother and one true friend. I don't think I could have asked for more."

"But you left?" asked Yvain.

Merlin grinned more broadly at that.

"I'm so sorry, My Lord, I just..."

"Yvain, do not apologise for your curiosity about the world. It's what I like about you. It's what makes you the person you are and it's one of the reasons you're here. I left Ealdor because it was a small village and, despite my friend and my mother, I didn't feel I fit in there."

Yvain just nodded, trying to see through what Merlin was telling him.

"And I'm not a Lord, Yvain. Please, call me Merlin."

Since they were being so honest, Yvain opened his mouth to tell Merlin that he really didn't feel comfortable with that but was stopped by the short, sharp snap of a twig in the trees beyond the path.

The retinue stopped as each of the Knights reached for swords or spears. Tristan pulled out the bow he called 'Fail Not; a name Yvain privately thought was a little lame. But then, he found Tristan arrogant and oblivious so it was probably fitting.

Lancelot gestured to the Knight to form a protective barrier around the two women and Merlin, leaving himself and Caradoc facing the most-likely point of attack. Yvain glanced back at Merlin who was manoeuvring his horses, not toward Morgana but toward Arthur.

He thought it was a strange decision; as though he believed his Prince needed more protection than his lover. He wondered if Merlin's loyalty to Arthur was the reason for their apparent estrangement. Then he turned his concentration to the 10 armed men who were pouring out of the trees to attack them.

He remembered little of the battle afterwards but he was used to that by now. There were flashes: the thwang of Tristan's bow as he released deadly arrow after arrow - he may be arrogant but he had good cause when it came to archery; the crunch of Caradoc's mace hitting one of the men's skulls; the warm coppery blood as it flew from wounds; the sight of Morgana, modified broadsword in hand, fighting expertly beside her terrified maid; and Merlin standing in the midst of the battle completely untouched, his sword seeming to acquire a life of its own. He'd had no idea the Prince's Advisor was such a skilled fighter.

They moved on, covering the bodies with branches weighed down by rocks so they could be found by their comrades and not wild animals. As they reached an appropriate clearing, they all sat down with an exhausted thud. The camp began to take shape without a word, as though the recent battle had given everyone the ability to read each other's minds.

"You did well," said Lancelot simply as he handed Yvain a cloth to clean himself up. Yvain just nodded in acknowledgement but inside he glowed at the praise. By definition, a compliment from Lancelot was almost a compliment from Arthur himself. He looked around at his comrades-in-arms and felt closer to them all than he had ever felt to any men.

They erected tents and cleaned weapons and armour and then began to drift off to their beds. But Yvain couldn't sleep; the soaring feeling of the fight still upon him. He stayed by the fire until only Merlin remained.

"I'll be first watch," he offered, "you should join... I mean, you should... umm... you should go to bed." He blushed again. He couldn't believe he nearly mentioned Camelot's biggest open secret.

Merlin just smiled, then laughed.

"I'm sorry, My L... Merlin... I didn't mean to..."

"It's quite alright, Yvain. I told you earlier today. I like your curiosity and your openness. It's why you're here."

"I had wondered about that," he admitted, "I could think of other Knights who would perhaps be better suited to accompanying you on this journey."

"And what else have you wondered about this journey?"

Yvain gave him an appraising look. If there was one thing he'd learnt about Merlin it was that he didn't ask questions idly. Arthur repeatedly called him a prattling fool but that wasn't Yvain's impression. He came across as very careful about what he said.

"I was wondering why Lancelot is here. It would make more sense for him to stay in Camelot to manage the Knights in Arthur's absence. I was expecting Lancelot to stay behind and Leon to come."

"What else?"

Yvain paused again. Then, emboldened by Merlin's calm expression, he continued, "I think Peregrine admires the Lady Morgana too much and Percival will be crushed when he realises Lancelot is not interested in men.

"I think Caradoc is here because he just genuinely enjoys bashing people's skulls in and because he is always honest about what he thinks and feels. But I can't understand why Morgana is with us. She can protect herself, that much was made clear today, but it seems a strange addition to our group. And Vidor... My L... Merlin... has something happened between yourself and the Lady Morgana?"

Merlin picked up a log and stoked the fire up a bit more before answering.

"You see, I was right about you. You have an inquiring mind; far more than the usual Knight and you see more than people give you credit for.

"I watch you in a situation and your mind is churning away beneath the surface trying to make sense of everything because when you get new information you never _assume_ you know what's really going on.

"Part of that is your youth, of course..."

"I'm only 10 years younger than you!" Yvain protested. He hated being reminded he was not yet seventeen.

"... but even though you're a man now," Merlin placated him, "you still retain a child's open curiosity about the world.

"You know, many young men come to Camelot and they meet Knights like Mellum and take their example from them. It's tempting, you know, the belief that you have the right to do whatever you want to do to anybody without consequence.

"But you, Yvain, you gravitated straight to Leon, Arthur and even Lancelot when he finally returned. You took your example from them. It's harder to be that kind of Knight. It means having power but knowing when and how it's appropriate to use it. It takes more thought and more energy and much more integrity. And that is why you're here, Yvain."

Yvain stirred the fire as well. He suspected Merlin might have more to say.

"What do you know about the Northern Kingdoms?"

"Well, there are a lot of them..."

"But generally speaking?"

"They are slightly wilder, more tolerant of magic; they resist both Uther's overtures for peace, the campaign against sorcery, and the new religion. They prefer the old ways but were never great adherents of the old religion either."

"Their lack of affiliation with either Camelot or any of our allies makes them a strategic threat?" prompted Merlin.

"I guess so. They've never been openly aggressive. My father used to advise Olaf constantly to attack some of them. Olaf used to say that the northern kingdoms would never attack their neighbours for no reason but that they would band together to defend themselves. He vetoed any talk of war but then Olaf has always preferred to work towards peace."

"And if they ever changed their minds and became aggressive?" asked Merlin, seriously.

"If we thought that was a possibility then we should be forging alliances with them now."

"And how would we do that?"

"They've always been uninterested in treaty overtures. Most of them say the southern kingdoms have nothing they want. I guess, if there was a marriage... oh."

"Indeed," agreed Merlin.

"I heard that Arthur got a marriage proposal from King Fendrel for the Princess Jaquelyn. If he'd married her...".

"A Kingdom with an interest in allying itself with Camelot and existing treaties with several of the Northern Kingdoms. One also with a busy port and trading relationships along the coast all the way from Cornwall to the Scots. Yes, Arthur should have married Jaquelyn. And I advised him to do so even knowing he never would."

"He didn't marry her," reasoned Yvain, "so if Uther still wants to forge an alliance with a northern kingdom than..."

Merlin gave a humourless smile.

"The answer to your question about the Lady Morgana's presence is that my mother, to all intents and purposes, is her mother as well. And she wishes to spend some time with her mother.

"Now, I will take first watch. You may not feel it at the moment but you are more exhausted from today than you realise. Take some rest while you can."

Yvain stumbled off to his tent, his mind reeling with the conversation he'd just had. Life, it appeared, was even more complicated than he'd realised. Maybe he was better off when people didn't answer his questions.


	46. Chapter 46

**Mercia Part 2**

Yvain was woken by the rain pouring down the outside of his tent. It was still dark but he could hear the even steady rhythms of it on the ground. He lay there for a moment; warm and comfortable and dry and wondered why it always felt so much better to wake up to rain than to sunshine.

"Yvain!" he heard the harsh cry of Caradoc outside his tent. "You and Tristan need to get up NOW or I'll thrash you lousy louts within an inch of your miserable lives."

Yvain rolled over and shook Tristan awake. If he'd had his choice, the Knight wouldn't have been his preferred sleeping companion but that was the way it had to be if Morgana and her maid were to have a tent each. Technically, Merlin was billeted with Arthur but everyone knew where he was really expected to sleep.

"Tristan," he yelled at him, trying to get the man to wake up.

"Wha.. what...?" mumbled a groggy Tristan, "what do you think you're doing _boy_?"

"It's time to get up."

"That's for a Knight of Camelot to determine, not you."

"It was. Caradoc just yelled that he'll dismember us if we don't get up immediately."

Tristan gave a quick grin and Yvain was struck by how much it changed his face. He seemed almost... personable... all of a sudden.

"Now, that I believe," he said. "Alright, I'll get up if only to keep all my limbs. I'm sure Caradoc will remove the one I can least afford to lose if I give him the opportunity."

"You mean, your sword arm?" asked Yvain curiously.

"No, boy, not my sword arm. Definitely not my sword arm."

Yvain privately wondered what limb could be more important to a Knight than his sword arm then shook his head to clear it of irrelevancies. They were off Ealdor today and not even rain, mud, an irate Caradoc, or an over-coiffed Knight with a bow called "Fail Not" could ruin his expectation.

"I've seen peasant villages of course," he said to Lancelot as they rode away from the campsite, the mud flying up under the horses' hooves and the rain pounding down on their coats, "but only when I passed through with my father to collect rents. To see a real one and speak to real peasants..."

"You're speaking to a real peasant right now, son," noted Lancelot and Yvain nearly fell off his steed in embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, My Lord, I forgot. I just... I mean, you're a Knight and you're..."

Lancelot smiled calmly.

"It's fine. Do you know, when I first came to Camelot I only got a position as a Knight because Merlin over there forged my papers of nobility."

Yvain pulled his steed up short in shock.

"He did what?"

"He was Arthur's manservant at the time and he decided, as only Merlin can, that it was unfair that I should be deprived of a chance at Knighthood based on my birth. I still have the forgery. It's astonishingly good work."

"How did Merlin end up as Arthur's advisor?"

"Well now, that is a long story and I was away from Camelot for the events of it and so it is not my tale to tell. l. I'm surprised you've never heard it."

"I've only been here a month or two and the one time I asked him he told me he was sick of telling it."

"I'm sorry, Yvain. I left Camelot many years ago and only just returned. Much happened in that time that I only know about from rumour and innuendo. I can tell you, however, that the Merlin I met back then – only nineteen years old and more bumbling than you can imagine - was already guiding Arthur through life just as he does now."

Lancelot smiled. "We were all such heroic fools and Merlin... he's the gangliest most optimistic fool of us all. And the reason any of us are alive."

"Merlin saved your life?"

"Arthur's life too, not that Arthur will ever admit it in public. That's how Merlin got the position as Arthur's manservant. He saved him from a magical assassin."

"Enough prattling," ordered Caradoc, "the boy wants to see real peasants, not ones who are Knighted or who read and write. And certainly not ones who speak six languages and have an entire library in their bedchamber. It'll do him good. Get a little reality into him."

"Personally, I could do with a little less of this soaking-wet reality and a little more love," said Tristan. Vidor and Peregrine grinned their agreement and both their gazes flicked, perhaps unwittingly, to Morgana.

"I wrote a poem to the wondrous beauty of Queen Yseult that I wish to recite. Do you know her? The wife of my Uncle, King Mark of Eire. I shall practice it so you can tell me whether it adequately speaks of my love."

"Love?" growled Caradoc, "what would you dimwits know of love? It's all poetry and the chaste adoration of married women these days. That's not love. I don't know what it is but it's a long way from love."

Yvain grinned at Caradoc's outburst; knowing just how passionate was his relationship with his beloved wife, Brunhild. Even a few months ago, he would have protested loudly at the Knight's assertions but now that he had seen true... companionship... between lovers he disagreed with the newly popular concept of courtly love that inspired men like Tristan. Given a choice between that and what Caradoc or Merlin... or even Arthur... had, he knew now which he'd choose.

"Maybe you'll find love where we're going?" suggested Vidor slyly. He and Tristan had known each other for a long time and he had obviously learned how best to bait him.

"Among peasants? You have to be jesting. No peasant woman could ever stand beside a true woman of noble birth. Only a nobleman's daughter could embody the virtues of womanhood that a Knight is honour bound to admire. The base urges of the body are for peasants. But love? Impossible."

He turned his attention back to the road and to Lancelot, only to find the Knight turned suddenly grim.

"Are you alright, Sir Lancelot?" he asked with some concern. Until now, the man had always projected a serene calmness.

"Leave him be, boy," growled Caradoc. "I told you. We're sick of hearing this prattling about love."

Deprived of his companion in conversation, Yvain nudged his steed to Merlin but found him even more morose than the day before. The Lady Morgana still rode at the back of the party and Yvain wondered whether or not they had slept in the same tent.

They rode through the rest of the day like that, in sodden silence, until they finally rounded the corner to view Ealdor; a small group of thatched huts in the middle of a few fields of wheat and barley.

The rain had stopped by then but the chill in the air had failed to dry them off and they were a sorry bunch that rode past a couple of cows on their way to the village.

As they drew near the houses, a door opened and out came a surprisingly-young woman in a simple skirt and grey shirt with a scarf wrapped around her hair.

With a small cry that almost sounded like a sob, Morgana slid off her horse and ran to the woman, throwing her arms around her.

"I really hope that's your mother," remarked Tristan to Merlin, "otherwise the Lady Morgana has a more interesting love life than I thought."

And just as Yvain thought that Merlin was going to brain the man, Caradoc did it for him with a thump of his gloved hand.

* * *

"Who'd like more bread with their stew?" asked Hunith. The Knights as one grunted their lack of desire for more bread; already struggling with the hard lumps they'd been given at the beginning of the meal. In contrast, the stew was flavoursome, although Yvain was astonished at just how many rabbits Arthur and Merlin had managed to catch in one wet afternoon.

"Sit down, Hunith, please," begged Arthur, "you shouldn't have to serve us like this."

"You're a guest in my home, Arthur, and the mighty hunter who made this meal possible. Now come on, eat up. You have a long journey tomorrow and you need your strength."

Arthur gave an embarrassed smile at being referred to as a "mighty hunter" as though he was 10 years old and playing with a stick in the backyard. But, Yvain noticed, it didn't stop him sitting up a little straighter in his chair.

"Where is the Lady Morgana?" asked Tristan, earning him a warning glare from Caradoc, The Knight had not been knocked unconscious from the blow but had spent the better part of the afternoon abed with a blinding headache.

"She is resting, Sir Tristan. And her maid has gone to a friend of mine's house to sleep the night. Now eat up, please. Such a large stew will not keep after you're gone. You may as well finish it now."

After much coaxing, Hunith finally sat down at the table to eat her sparse meal with the men. To Merlin and Arthur's acute embarrassment, she began regaling them with the story of how Merlin, Arthur, Gwen and Morgana had single-handedly saved their village from bandits.

"Is that true?" Yvain whispered to Merlin.

"Slightly embellished but yes," responded Merlin who then raised his voice to say, "of course she's forgetting the fact that the prat here originally refused to come and was only shamed into it when Morgana volunteered."

"What?" exclaimed Arthur, "that is not true."

"You can imagine how it looked. I'm heading back to my home village to do my duty regardless of the consequences to my health and welfare and, naturally, facing certain death with courage and aplomb, and Gwen and Morgana decide they're coming along too. Next thing you know, there's Arthur skulking into our campsite at night demanding to join us."

"That's not what happened, surely," protested Percival, "and even if it did, it makes sense for Morgana to volunteer. I mean, you know, under the circumstances."

"No, this was before that," said Hunith calmly, "I think... what... nearly two years before that? And Arthur did not skulk into our camp. Uther had denied us assistance for reasons that were beyond his control. Arthur simply decided it was his duty to aid us anyway. It was very heroic if you ask me."

And she popped another piece of rabbit into his bowl.

"I have to say, it was satisfying giving that bully a taste of his own medicine. Even if the price of doing it was so high." She sighed and she and her son swapped a sad look.

"His mother would be grateful if you visited her this evening."

Merlin nodded and used his head to gesture at a bowl of stew cooling on the sideboard.

"Yes," she said, "take her some food, please. She lives alone now that Will is gone and is far too proud to let us do for her all the things she needs. But she'll accept food from you."

The meal broke up shortly after that as Merlin left the house and the other Knights were shown to where they would be sleeping.

Yvain ended up on the floor in the main room with Arthur on one side and, when he came back, Merlin on the other. Hunith and Morgana were sharing the floor in the other room.

"It's not what I expected," he whispered to Arthur as they lay on the verge of sleep.

"In what way?" the Prince asked tersely. He didn't have Merlin's patience for Yvain's constant questions.

"I guess I thought it would be more... brutal... here. But Merlin's mother is so..."

"I know," agreed Arthur.

"They have so little but they're so generous. Did you see how little food Hunith will have left when we leave tomorrow?"

"Don't worry, Yvain. Merlin and I will get up early tomorrow morning and fix that. Don't worry about it. Now, go to sleep."

"I need to use the outhouse."

"Then go and use it. Then come back and sleep. We're going to have little time for rest as it is and it's a hard ride to Mercia tomorrow. And Lord knows what our welcome will be like there."

Yvain stumbled out of the house into the dark night and tried to get his bearings. The clouds from the day's rain were obscuring the moon and there was not a single light to be seen nearby. He hadn't realised until then just how much light there was in a city like Camelot even at night.

He heard voices and angled towards them, hoping to ask where the privy was. Hunith had told them all when they'd arrived but it had been daylight then.

"If you want me to, I'll stop it," he heard Merlin say. "I can do that. I can do that _this time_ but..."

"I know. If not this one, then another. In the end, I'll have to give my assent." Yvain heard Morgana sigh. "You know what the worst thing is?"

"That we thought this would happen sooner?"

Yvain stopped, uncertain as to whether he should continue or turn back. Now he was closer, he could see the vague outline of two figures lying in the grass.

"I thought, six months, maybe a year. Two if we were lucky. Arthur would marry whatever brainless princess Uther picked out for him and then he'd marry me off to someone equally brainless but strategically necessary. I even imagined the elaborate schemes I'd use to see you or spend time with you after I was wed.

"But then it was one year, two, three...it's nearly been four now. And never a word from the King about marriage. I thought, I honestly thought that maybe he'd just let us stay together. I even..."

"What?" he prompted her, as she paused. Yvain stayed frozen, hating that he was eavesdropping but uncertain what to do.

"Children, Merlin, I imagined children."

"So did I," he admitted huskily.

"I'm sorry I got so angry at you. It's not your fault. I do wish you wouldn't put Arthur's interests ahead of mine though. You could have at least warned me about what was likely to happen."

"I know. I got so caught up in what he wanted... I'll put you first from now on, I promise."

Yvain could almost hear the smile in her voice as she said, "don't make promises we both know you can't keep."

When she rolled over to kiss him, Yvain knew he had to reveal himself or retreat. If it wasn't for his damn bladder...

"Um," he said.

The two lovers sat up and looked around.

"Sorry, I... um... the privy?"

Merlin gave a small wry laugh and stood up.

"Come on, I'll show you. We should all get to bed anyway. We have an early start tomorrow. Well, nearly all of us," he said and he pulled Morgana to him and kissed her.

"If I don't see you tomorrow morning, I'll be back from Mercia in a few weeks. We'll talk more then."

She nodded, her white face slowly being revealed in the darkness as Yvain's eyes adapted to the black.

"Count on it."


	47. Chapter 47

**Mercia Part 3**

They were attacked again the next day and the morning after as they were leaving their camp. They fended off both attacks relatively easily but Yvain nonetheless gave a sigh of relief when they left Cenred's Kingdom.

"Don't look so worried, Yvain," counselled Arthur, "you're as bad as Merlin used to be. Cenred gave us permission to cross his borders and I'm hardly going to start a war with one Kingdom on my way to secure a peace with another."

"But if we have permission then why..."

Arthur gestured at Merlin to explain then galloped up to join Lancelot. He seemed to be even more impatient since they left Ealdor, but then everyone's mood had altered a great deal since they'd waved goodbye to Hunith two days before.

"Cenred's no friend of Camelot's," Merlin explained, "but it would have been Morys who attacked us. He hates Uther; surprisingly enough for reasons that have nothing to do with the policy on magic."

"Morys?"

"A former Knight of Camelot. His brother was killed by Uther in a training session. It was an accident but Morys went... a bit mad. He switched his loyalties to Cenred and declared that he would humiliate Uther then kill him."

"I can't imagine choosing Cenred's Court over Uther's," noted Yvain. "I was there for a tourney before I came to Camelot and the excesses of behaviour were... extreme."

Merlin just nodded and got for a moment a distant haunted look on his face.

"I'm well aware of the type of behaviour Cenred tolerates from his men," he said unexpectedly harshly. Then he shook his head to seemingly clear it of unwelcome thoughts.

"Truthfully, Morys is not particularly loyal to his new King either. He just wants revenge and aligning himself with Uther's enemy seems the best way."

Then he kicked his horse to catch up to Arthur and Lancelot. The three began a low-voiced conversation that probably related to their mission.

The rest of the group rode in silence after that. Even Tristan seemed suitably chastened after Caradoc's bruising thump; coupled as it was with an even more bruising lecture, delivered so loudly that all of Ealdor heard. Both he and Vidor seemed in particularly bad moods; venting their spleen on their squires instead of the other Knights.

Yvain wondered where the camaraderie of the last few days had gone and thought it must have been partly the weather and partly the mood of the three main men in the group. Merlin, Arthur and Lancelot seemed subdued and concerned for reasons Yvain did not understand.

As for Vidor, his self-satisfaction seemed to have evaporated with the rain. Yvain looked at him kicking his squire in the head for some imaginary slight and wondered if he should intervene as Merlin, Arthur or Lancelot surely would have if they had been looking.

The usually-taciturn Peregrine followed his gaze and gave an amused grunt.

"Vidor is learning that where women are concerned silence does not indicate assent."

Yvain looked at the giant dark-haired Knight, curiosity writ large on his face, but the man did not elaborate.

"Sire!" yelled Percival excitedly, drawing the attention of the entire group. He looked down at the map he was following. "It says here we are near a natural hot spring. I understand that time is precious but with the weather the way it is and our inability to bathe for the last few days then..."

"Very well," agreed Arthur, "Lord knows Merlin could use a bath."

"Hey," said Merlin, brightening up at the insult, "I'm not the one that peasant woman yelled at because the smell was upsetting her goats."

"She yelled a greeting, Merlin."

"She said you smelled like a dung heap and if you didn't go away your smell would affect their milk."

"She realised her error later and apologised."

"Yeah, after you gave her a gold coin."

Arthur gave Merlin a mock glare then turned back to Percival.

"Lead the way. The squires can stay by the main road with the horses and provisions."

Percival gave a happy grin and then turned off the path toward the spring, unable to stop a small glance at Lancelot on the way.

Peregrine silently rolled his eyes and Yvain realised with a blush that seeing Lancelot unclothed was a significant motivation in Percival's suggestion. Peregrine rolled his eyes again and Caradoc caught the movement and mirrored the action.

The springs were natural but someone, probably a Mercian Lord or Baron, had built a structure around it and stone steps leading into the water. There were ledges built around the side for sitting on and, although it was a bit slippery, the salts in the water had stopped any moss from growing.

Inside the building it was warm and dim but Merlin quickly lit the sconces that lined the walls and the men could see relatively well.

Lancelot looked a bit wary.

"Surely such a structure must be maintained. I fear we are trespassing on somebody's land."

"We'll just take a moment to bathe and relax and then be on our way," declared Arthur. He gave Merlin a strangely-loaded look and his Advisor went back outside.

By the time he came back in they were all settled down in the water with all the Knights leaning back against the wall in apparent bliss.

"Maybe we should just stay here," said Vidor, "forget Mercia and everything else and just find a cave somewhere to live in."

"No women," replied Tristan regretfully.

"That would be of benefit as far as I'm concerned," noted Vidor, with a low thread of anger running through his tone.

Merlin gave him an inscrutable look then nodded to Arthur who nodded back in acknowledgement.

He stripped off his clothing to join them and Yvain stared in shock at the scars. He nearly gasped out loud but managed to swallow the curse before he could utter it out loud.

He had never in his life seen a man with scars like those. _Never seen one still walking around, _he thought. There was one long slash down his right side, obviously from a broadsword, and another across the bottom of his stomach that by all rights should have disembowelled him. And on the bottom right hand side, bridging both, the large white circular scarring of a crossbow bolt.

It all made sense suddenly. The respect of the Knights, the trusted position, the references to 'Camelot's hero'. At some stage, Merlin had done something heroic and had nearly lost his life in the process. He looked around all the other naked Knights and realised that not even Arthur sported such scars from defence of the Kingdom. _What on Earth had happened to him?_

Merlin met his stare and gave him a wry smile that caused Yvain to drop his head in embarrassment.

Tristan intercepted the look and gave Yvain a quick wink.

"I wonder if Yseult would love me if I sacrificed myself to save her life?"

Caradoc shot him a glare but he ignored it.

"I mean, I'd be dead but at least I'd die knowing she loved me." He flashed a broad grin. "She could spend the rest of her life pining away for her dead brave hero and then we could be reunited in the afterlife."

"There seems little point being reunited if you're dead," growled Caradoc.

"Little point? Then I could worship her chaste perfection forever."

"Chaste?" interjected Percival. "She's married with five children."

"Two children. The other three are from his first two wives. My Uncle replaces wives like other people replace broken plates. They all die in childbirth. What a waste."

Caradoc looked momentarily thunderous but then simply shook his head and laughed.

"You're incorrigible, boy. And wrong about almost everything. But you're damn good with a bow so I think we can overlook your other shortcomings."

With a blast of sound that stunned him nearly into insensibility, Yvain felt as well as heard a screeching begin outside the building. All the men leapt up out of the bath and quickly grabbed their weapons. They threw on some clothes more for modesty than practicality then moved into a flanking permission at the door.

"What on Earth is that noise?" yelled Yvain.

"Perimeter," grunted Peregrine in response, "one of Merlin's little tricks."

"But how does it w...?" He never finished the sentence as the alarm stopped suddenly and Merlin gave Arthur a concerned look.

Magic? mouthed Arthur.

Merlin nodded.

They moved back from the door forming a semi-circle with the door completing the ring. Then they simply waited for the attack.

Nothing happened for a moment and then men began to storm the building. The doorway was only large enough to let two enter at any one time so Yvain believed they should have the advantage yet somehow they could not land any killing blows.

The fighters were not Cenred's men, or Morys' for that matter. They were dressed as bandits but their fighting style was strange. They did not have much technique but somehow eluded swords and maces with extraordinary skill. It was only when one of their attackers' eyes glowed gold before a sword thrust could kill him did Yvain realise they were using magic to fight the battle.

"They're sorcerers," he yelled at Lancelot, "what do we do?"

"Merlin," commanded the Prince's second-in-command, "you're not a Knight, get behind us."

It was a wise move, thought Yvain in retrospect. For the other Knights, it was a command that made sense. And, after all, it was only a coincidence, a strange and unusual confluence of events, that led him to spin around and catch Merlin's eyes just as they glowed with magical fire.

He spun around again and found the fight had turned. And he knew that whatever had happened to change their fate, it was Merlin that had done it using that most forbidden of skills. Magic.

Yvain looked around in shock, wanting to see if anyone else had noticed that the Prince's Advisor had just committed treason. All were intent on overcoming their now-incompetent attackers. All except Tristan, who put one finger to his lips and then gave him a wink.


	48. Chapter 48

**Mercia Part 4**

They had prisoners and squires and horses and chores and camps to set up and take down and a hundred different things that would usually focus the mind but Yvain couldn't concentrate on any of them. All he could think of was what he had seen at the baths.

After only one more day's travel they were at the gates of Mercia; explaining the attack, handing over the prisoners led by a man called Alvarr, greeting the King, getting settled in quarters. Bayard had been very welcoming of them - particularly of Merlin whom he appeared to recognise – but he had deliberately held off any serious talks until, he said, they had "settled in".

This delay had simply given Yvain time to stew on the issue. He had to talk about it with Merlin, with Tristan, with someone. But there were too many people around and he didn't know who to trust or who knew. He needed to make sure he didn't reveal the secret to the wrong person.

He did a quick mental catalogue. Tristan knew, of course, and Lancelot because he ordered Merlin behind the others. He wouldn't have done that, Yvain thought, if _all_ the Knights knew. He had to be careful.

Or maybe he didn't. It was treason, after all, wasn't it? Magic was a crime against the Kingdom of Camelot according to the King. It was forbidden in Olaf's kingdom as well.

"Go to Camelot," his father had said when he was planning his tour, "there is no greater defender of our freedom against magic than Uther."

Yvain knew what his father would do, _would already have done_. And maybe he would have as well except for that small voice in his head that wouldn't stop asking questions. If he's evil, why did he save our lives? If he's mad with power then why didn't he kill or injure Mellum when he was bullying him? Why would he allow Morgana free will, tolerate Vidor's meddling in his relationship, have those scars along his torso?

Yvain already knew his father wasn't right about everything. Maybe he wasn't right about this either?

But then, he thought, we're on a mission to _discourage _Mercia from softening its position on magic. And it's being led by a man who is served by a sorcerer? Maybe it's not the real plan at all. Maybe Merlin is a traitor. Maybe his real plan is to ferment rebellion against Camelot and Uther?

Yvain shook his head and looked around the comfortable apartments he had been. This was no use, he realised. He had to confront someone involved. He took a deep breath and let himself out of his chambers and went in search of his Prince.

"Sir Caradoc," he greeted the older man, as he spied him in the corridors, "I'm looking for Merlin. Or maybe Tristan."

"I have no idea where Merlin is. Probably in disguise somewhere collecting information. I prefer not to know about that sort of thing. Tristan says he's teaching the Knights of Mercia his bow techniques but mostly he's just showing off for the local women."

"And Lancelot?"

"With Arthur somewhere. What's the matter, son? You look concerned."

Yvain shook his head and tried to look happy.

"Not at all. I'm just... not sure what to do while we're waiting for Bayard to begin negotiations."

Caradoc grinned and Yvain realised what he'd just admitted to. Damn, he thought, and then mentally apologised to his father for swearing.

* * *

Two hours of brutal training later, Yvain stumbled back through the corridors bruised and battered; cursing Caradoc and his own stupid self for admitting he had "nothing to do". Caradoc was notorious for the adage that a Knight always had something to do because he could have never have enough training.

He ordered a chambermaid to draw him a bath in his quarters and then made his way to his chambers; stopping in the halls when he realised he was outside where Tristan had been billeted.

He knocked then entered, finding the first room empty. Maybe Tristan was not here after all. He turned to leave but then heard...

"...he's putting us in an even more difficult position. I had no idea he had gone so far down this path," Tristan heard Merlin say from the bedroom. He moved toward the door that was slightly ajar so he could hear but not be seen.

"Our mission is unchanged," Peregrine said. "Anything else is treason."

"Please," Tristan's voice piped in, his own brand of quiet sarcasm evident in his tone, "we commit treason getting up in the morning and you know it. But it can stop right now, if you want. All in favour of executing Merlin say 'aye'."

"This has nothing to do with loyalty," interjected Arthur, somewhat angrily, "this has to do with what we came here to achieve. That hasn't changed. We stop Bayard from moving down this path or it means war. Today. Those are our options. Greater freedom for those with magic in some other Kingdom or the maintenance of a treaty that has averted years of war. If Mercia becomes more tolerant, my father orders us to attack. Will you disobey an order from your King?"

"No," stated Peregrine firmly, "I am a Knight of Camelot. I do not agree with our position on magic but I gave an oath to uphold the laws of my Kingdom. I will not break my oath."

"Please," said Tristan, "you broke your oath the minute you let Merlin live. Why are we even discussing this? Bayard's creating a more tolerant kingdom, the kind of kingdom where Merlin and... and _my sister..._ could live without fear. If a short war today means freedom for people with magic then I say I will fight that war."

"And will you fight it alone?" said Merlin softly. "Or will hundreds of other men - Knights and guards and common soldiers and peasants who could otherwise tend their fields and raise their families – die for this war."

"Merlin," Tristan's voice appealed to him earnestly, "these are _your_ people. These are my people, my family. We came here believing all we had to do was convince Bayard to imprison his wife's sister and change one crazy law. But now..."

"I know," agreed Merlin quietly, "I _know._ The changes here are incredible. The word on the street is that Bayard even has a magical advisor and is considering rescinding the law that outlaws domestic magic. Every part of me wants to let him be and see what happens."

"What happens is war, Merlin," said Arthur, "a war we were specifically sent here to prevent. Forget your feelings for a moment and give me your advice."

There was a silence during which Yvain became aware he was standing at the door to the bedroom, eavesdropping again but too stunned at the conversation going on within to care.

"I can't," replied Merlin after a lengthy break, "I can't propose a course of action that will lead to war and yet... what will those with magic think when you take the throne and they realise you could have made their lives better today? What will Morgana think?"

"Which part of 'forget your feelings for the moment' did you not understand? Your advice, Merlin, now."

The silence lengthened as Merlin seemed to fight an inner battle. Then...

"Convince Bayard to change his policy toward magic. Avoid war. Avoid any suggestion you sympathise with users of magic. Continue our efforts to smuggle those with harmless abilities out of Camelot but keep your name out of it always. Give your father no reason to disinherit you. Work toward the future. Sacrifice today."

"Thank you, Merlin. Lancelot, you've said little," noted Arthur.

"I've protected Merlin's secret longer than anyone. I will support his wishes in this and in all things to do with magic," the Knight said calmly.

"I will uphold my oath to Camelot," said Peregrine.

"Tristan?"

"You have my loyalty but know that I am not happy about this. Many others will be unhappy as well."

"Then we're agreed," stated Arthur matter-of-factly and, before he could stop himself, Yvain walked through the door and said, "don't I get a say?"

The five men within simply stared at him in shock, then Tristan began to laugh.

"Did I mention Yvain saw Merlin perform that magic against Alvarr?" he said off-handedly.

Peregrine looked as though he wanted to speak but Merlin waved his hand.

"Yvain, what do you think?"

"I think," he paused. What did he think, really? What had he been going to say?

"I think that I can cope with the idea of Merlin having magic and not being evil. But I cannot think of any other Knight in Olaf's court who could. My father - all of them - support the ban on magic. And our Kingdom is not the only one of Camelot's allies to feel that way. If Camelot should relax its stance..."

Arthur closed his eyes, took a deep breath then opened them again.

"That resolves it as far as I'm concerned. There's too much at stake. Mercia must change."

Yvain looked around the circle of faces as they all nodded: Lancelot supportive, Peregrine quietly staunch, Tristan resigned, Merlin torn but determined. He smiled despite himself. Without almost knowing how, he had become a part of something - something important. There were conversations required; admissions, clarifications and specifications. But suddenly, in a few small moments of clarity and tiny steps in a certain direction, he had become part of Arthur's circle.

He was Yvain... of Camelot.


	49. Chapter 49

**Mercia Part 5**

The Knights picked their slow way back to Ealdor; the mood sombre. Their mission was a success but the cost, at least in the minds of those who knew the sacrifice they had made for that success, was high.

Yvain looked at Merlin grimly leading his horse along the forest path and wondered just how hard it had been for him to negotiate a renewed ban on magic in Mercia.

What had he said during the meeting more than a week before? _What would Morgana think? _And here he was; about to see her again, to let her know that a Kingdom that may have welcomed them had reverted back to intolerance and a step toward peaceful co-existence that could have eventually forced a chance in Camelot's laws has been quashed.

They had also created a new magical enemy for Camelot, one who was patient and devious and worked through influence rather than direct action. How much of the future had been sacrificed for today's gain?

With the grim turn of his thoughts, he was almost relieved when they were attacked.

* * *

Yvain stood in Bayard's court with a scattering of the other Knights... waiting. They had been coming there for nearly a week as Arthur, Merlin, Bayard, and his two advisors locked themselves in Bayard's chambers to debate the issues.

One of his advisors was magical and she had stormed from the room the day before; a good sign as far as Yvain was concerned. Now she stood across from him, her wild blonde hair seeming to bristle as the day rolled on toward late afternoon.

"I don't like it," growled Caradoc beside him, "I don't trust her. Standing there as though she's willing to accept whatever outcome Bayard chooses. She's magical. She can't be trusted."

"Do you think that's true of all magical beings?" asked Yvain keenly. He knew Caradoc had been chosen for the expedition for his skills at keeping the Knights together rather than his potential as a member of their group, but thought it only fair to sound him out anyway.

The older Knight turned to him thoughtfully; the livid scar that ran down his cheek seeming more obvious in the dim light of the hall.

"I am an old man, Yvain. Such questions are for the young. I do remember the time before the purge though. She..." he nodded toward the imposing woman who stood expressionless on the other side of the room, "looks like one of them. Like Nimueh who used to serve the King himself. Are they evil? Sometimes. Sometimes they're so driven and single-minded they may as well be. They have power and they use it. Uther decided that should end. And I can't deny Camelot was more peaceful and more ordered when he was through. As to the consequences of that for ordinary users of magic... it's not my place to speculate. I'm just an old Knight who doesn't know when to be put to pasture."

"You're not that old," Yvain protested, "and you still fight better than any other Knight... with the exception of Lancelot and Arthur of course."

"I'm past fifty, son. That's old even for a man who is not a Knight." Then he grinned suddenly; the slightly lascivious grin that he saved for talk of women. "Still, my wife helps to keep me young. She's only just past thirty."

Yvain grinned as well and then turned his attention to Percival who had entered the hall with Vidor. With an inward groan he realised he was stuck with the three only members of the party who were not privy to the secrets of Arthur's secret circle.

"Why did you bring them?" he'd asked Merlin the evening before. They'd finally had the time to talk properly about many of the things Yvain was curious about.

"Because," explained Merlin, "we thought that I may have to use magic on this journey and we needed people who wouldn't react badly if they found out. Percival has a good heart: he's a kind person and tends to judge people as he finds them. Caradoc is old enough to have seen Kingdoms and laws change and is therefore flexible. And Vidor... well, maybe Vidor was a mistake."

Yvain had opened his mouth to ask what Vidor had done, knowing it had something to do with the Lady Morgana but not sure what, but they had been interrupted by Bayard's magical advisor, Morgause.

She was a mystery to Yvain. He couldn't understand why Bayard had reacted so angrily to Alvarr's magic when a sorcerer had his ear. Before he could stop himself, he'd asked the inscrutable woman the question.

"Alvarr attacked you within Bayard's borders," she'd explained, her brown eyes turning to him. They had glints of gold in them and had almost looked an unearthly yellow in the light, "it was the attack and not the magic that angered him."

"Who is Alvarr?" asked Merlin bluntly. She kept looking at Yvain as she replied.

"Alvarr is a small man who's found a cause that could make him an important one. He appeared about two years ago, dubbed himself a magical renegade and began striking targets randomly and without any purpose other than destruction. As word spread of his deeds, he began to gather a significant following of... let us call them the 'magical disaffected'... from Mercia, Cenred's Kingdom, even Camelot. When Bayard relaxed the laws on magic, he struck a blow against Alvarr's ability to recruit.

"But now it appears all our good work here will be undone. I come to ask you," and she turned back to Merlin, "to convince your Prince to leave things be. Bayard's new laws do not threaten Camelot. In fact, where men like Alvarr are concerned, they benefit it."

"And why are _you_ here?" Merlin asked, avoiding the request. "Your accent suggests you are not from Mercia. If I had a guess, I would say you are from the border regions of Camelot itself."

"Where I am from is unimportant," she said calmly, "I am here at the request of Bayard's wife. I am a... childhood friend of the family."

Merlin had just nodded but a guarded look had come down on his face that Yvain didn't like to see. He was usually so open with his emotions.

"I serve Camelot and the terms of Bayard's treaty with Camelot are clear," said Merlin definitely. "The law changes or the treaty is null and void."

"And this will be your advice to your Prince?"

Merlin had just nodded, the shuttered look still on his face.

"What happened? What's got your worried?" Yvain inquired as soon as Morgause had left.

"Bayard's wife is from the region of Camelot where the lands belonging to the House of Gorlois stand. Morgana's family," he added for Yvain's benefit. "There was something in the genealogy records...." He shook his head. "Probably unimportant."

Now in Bayard's hall a week later, Yvain found himself unable to take his eyes off the commanding woman on the other side of the room. He wondered if he found her so fascinating for a reason. Maybe she had put a spell on him?

"Be careful, son," counselled Caradoc calmly. He looked in confusion at the older man then realised Morgause was moving toward him. Peregrine had already warned him that she would likely approach him: he was the youngest of the group and she'd be hoping his naiveté would be to her advantage.

He found himself suddenly nervous but couldn't imagine what could happen when everyone else was around. He did wish that Merlin was here to protect him from witchcraft.

"We meet again," Morgause greeted him pleasantly.

She began to ask polite questions of himself, his family, the journey. Yvain wondered how she could use the information she got; could not even realise what she might be after in the social small talk they were engaged in.

They talked of the rain during their journey, their stop in Ealder, the bath house they were in when they were attacked. Even Caradoc's suspicions seemed to thaw as they chatted amiably for half an hour.

Their polite conversation was halted when a runner was sent from Bayard's chambers and began ringing the bell to gather. Silence descended on the hall as the Court began to arrive. The other Knights also joined them and a certain sense of expectation began to fill the air.

Bayard, Arthur, Merlin and Bayard's main advisor walked through the door into the main room. Yvain turned to where Morgause had been standing; hoping to gauge her reaction to the obviously-imminent announcement.

He twisted his room to view the room in some shock.

Morgause had disappeared.

* * *

They were Morys' men, pouring down the mountainside to attack them as they moved through a narrow ravine. The Knights of Camelot were completely pinned down but swung around to face their attackers nonetheless.

While it may have pinned them in, the rocky overhang of the ravine also protected them from arrows and Morys' men were forced to come down to the ground to attack them. Despite that small advantage, they were still outnumbered and trapped in a small space.

Percival went down first; the injury to his sword arm severe enough to put him out of action but not enough to kill him as yet. Then Tristan, trying to break out of the rocky overhang so he could use 'Fail Not' got an arrow through the upper thigh. Yvain, Caradoc and Merlin moved instinctively to protect Arthur, forming a protective cordon around him.

Outside that ring, Lancelot, Peregrine and Vidor attacked the oncoming soldiers ruthlessly but seemingly fruitlessly. It soon became obvious that they would be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled above the screeching metallic sounds of blade on blade and the shuddering cracks and tears of bones breaking. "Merlin, do something. Now."

Merlin stepped in front of Arthur, a kind of field forming around him that nothing – not swords, nor spears, nor maces – could penetrate, until he came face-to-face with an overweight man of dirty blonde hair and uncertain years.

Around him, the fighting stopped as the men stood back in shock at an obvious use of powerful magic.

"Hello Morys," Merlin greeted the other man calmly, "do you remember me?"

"Remember you? Some skinny servant with big ears? No, I don't remember you."

"I remember you," said Merlin simply and he raised his hand, clenched it shut, and watched calmly as Morys dropped to the ground clutching his heart.

"I think you'll realise, in the two to three minutes you have to wonder about it before your heart stops that is, that your mistake was touching Morgana."

"Morgana? Uther's ward? I kidnapped her, I admit that freely. But she was rescued. I never laid a hand on her."

"But you were going to, Morys. You were going to. And I may have even let you live, I may have had a perfectly happy life with you in the world, but you just kept trying to kill Arthur. You are a threat to Camelot. I may not be able to achieve much at the moment to make the world I live in a better place but at least I can achieve this. Goodbye Morys."

He turned around as Morys fell flat onto the leafy ground and faced his men.

"Your leader is dead and Cenred has granted us safe passage. I suggest you run. NOW!"

And as one the men fled.

"You're a sorcerer!" yelled a terrified Percival from the ground. He looked around the group wildly. "He's a sorcerer."

"Well, if you haven't worked that out after all these years you're not very bright, are you?" said Caradoc to everyone's shock. "Come on, we have only a few hours till darkness. We need to make it to Ealdor... and get our damn stories straight."

* * *

"Merlin!" called Yvain down the corridor at the Advisor's retreating back. He was being swept along toward a celebratory banquet in honour of the renewed peace treaty between Mercia and Camelot.

"Merlin, I need to tell you something. Something important."

The main party slowed and turned as Yvain pushed his way through to where they stood. He stood panting in front of the group.

"Quickly, young Knight," urged Bayard, "inform us of your news. And let it not contain accusations of poisoned goblets or Merlin here might decide to drink it."

Bayard laughed deeply at that and both Merlin and Arthur looked slightly amused.

"Wha...?" began Yvain in confusion then he shook his head to focus it on the task at hand. "Freeman Merlin, King Bayard, Prince Arthur," he greeted them all (politeness was a virtue he simply could not shake), "Morguase... she has disappeared. In the middle of the Throne Room, she just..." he gestured with his hands to signify her apparent evaporation.

The three men looked concerned.

"Could she be dangerous?" asked Arthur, seriously.

"I don't know," admitted Bayard, "I don't think so. At least... I don't believe she would attack. She always counselled a gradual move to the relaxation of the laws and violence only in self-defence. She seemed determined to give magic a new... image. I feel it's more likely she has moved to another Kingdom in the hope of gaining influence there."

"Merlin?" Arthur turned to his advisor.

Merlin shook his head. "I think it's more likely she'll blame us – you and me and maybe Uther - for this turn than Bayard. When we return to Camelot, we should be on guard for evidence of her influence. But is she dangerous to us now? No, I don't think so."

"Then we will be on guard as soon as we cross Camelot's borders. But for now, we will enjoy our revitalised friendship with this great Kingdom."

"I can drink to that, poisoned goblet or no," said Bayard and this time Arthur did laugh.

* * *

Their defeat of Morys and the revelation of Merlin's magic had seemed to break open a dam of good will amongst the Knights. Even Vidor seem relaxed about the disclosure of his rival's power and Percival, after his initial shock, had become like some sort of admiring and excited puppy.

He had his arm in a sling and was dragging Tristan's makeshift bed of logs behind his horse but it didn't stop him from bouncing around Merlin demanding he make flowers bloom or boulders fly or cause birds to fly upside down.

"It's autumn, Percival, if I make a flower bloom it will die. And boulders have no place flying. And who knows what harm I could do to a bird by making it fly upside down?"

"Then what's the point?" he argued. "You can subvert the laws of nature. So do it."

"Just because I _can_ doesn't mean I _should_," countered Merlin, although he did give a quick grin and cause the forest leaves to fly up and spell the name Percival across the sky above him.

"Get him to clean armour and heat bath water. It's his speciality," goaded Arthur, "just don't expect the armour to stay in one piece or your leg to not get broiled."

Merlin's eyes flashed and Arthur tipped off his horse.

"Merlin! You..." Arthur moved toward him as though to pull him off his horse then stopped as he saw the glint in Merlin's eye. "I am your liege, you wouldn't dare."

"Try me," taunted Merlin. "I'm thinking... your clothes arrive in Ealdor a few hours before you do."

"You will pay for this, Merlin," threatened Arthur, "I'll... I'll tell Gaius and Malcolm. See how you like a disapproving manservant."

"Oh fine, your clothes stay where you are. There's nothing more terrifying than a disappointed Malcolm. But I suggest you consider the consequences when the next insult passes your lips."

"Is magic how you saved Morgana from Morys?" asked Percival and Merlin nodded. "It's how I got her out of her cell but I should point out that when those bandits attacked us I nearly died. Magic doesn't solve all our problems."

Percival's enthusiasm was unquenchable and infectious. The happy Knight's mood affected everybody and they were all laughing and smiling as they rode through the first fields of Ealdor.

"Gods, it's good to be home," declared Merlin as he saw the first dots of cows on the horizon.

"Merlin," interrupted Peregrine, his mood comparatively sombre, "is that your mother?"

Yvain strained his eyes along with the others; just making out a figure that looked like Hunith running toward them through the fields.

"That is your mother," he said, "I have the best vision and I'm sure of it."

"Something's wrong," noted Lancelot, "she's running."

The entire group, with the exception of the burdened Percival, broke into a united gallop and tore across the fields toward the sprinting woman.

"Mother," cried Merlin and he threw himself off his horse as they approached. "Mother, what's wrong?"

"Merlin, oh Arthur," she began then took a deep breath and had to start again. "She came. Some blonde woman came. She talked to Morgana. I don't know what she said but Morgana was furious. She started ranting about how Uther would rule forever and those with magic would never be free. She's gone, Merlin. The blonde woman left and then Morgana... she said she had to free Camelot herself. She took her horse and disappeared in a whirling tornado of dark light.

"Merlin, Morgana's gone."

* * *

**A/N I have such writer's block at the moment that this took me forever to write. You can blame work (I do). Hope it's still up to scratch. **

**Just a reminder for those who haven't read ALaaU in a while, Morys was the man who kidnapped Morgana as part of Uther's 'humiliation'.**

**And finally, I'm sorry for the cliffie at the end of this chapter. This is the last of the Mercia series but I'm not going to let the cliffie stand indefinitely. Anyone who's been following the storylines closely has probably worked out what Morgana's gone to do anyway (I hope!).**


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N Nods to Bernard Fanning for the title...**

**No greater dedication can a writer have than to push out a chapter for one of their most stalwart reviewers. Bricks, here 'tis. Hope it's everything you've been waiting for. And yes, there will be another one to resolve the previous chapter's cliffhanger. **_**At some stage...**_

**

* * *

**

Tea and Sympathy

It was well past dawn when Morgana awoke. With the hard floor as a bed, the unfamiliar room, and the extraordinary and unusual sounds of industry outside her window, she was astonished she had slept so late. A succession of poor nights' sleep had exhausted her more than she had realised.

It had obviously been a cold night and a colder morning because Hunith had piled blankets – handmade and scratchy – on top of her in the night. She could feel the slight touch of frost on her nose but the rest of her was warm and snug.

She closed her eyes again and gloried in the feeling for a moment. No maid to toss her out of bed and into the day, no duties to perform, and no men. Thank the Gods.

"Are you awake, My Lady?" she heard Hunith's mellow voice call from the other room.

"Yes," she managed beneath her cocoon of blankets, "but very comfortable. And please, Hunith, call me Morgana."

"I have made some breakfast for you if you're hungry. I left it over a low fire in the kitchen. I just have to go and care for some children for a few hours. Their parents are in the fields and they want me to watch them and teach them some of their letters."

Morgana heard her leave the house then slowly crawled out from her resting place and stood up to stretch. She changed into the trousers she used to travel then wandered into the kitchen and ate the small amount of gruel that Hunith had cooked for her.

How was it that in the castle they had so much and these people had so little? She could pretend it was because Ealdor was in Cenred's Kingdom but she knew the peasants in her own lived the same way.

It just wasn't right and she had no idea what she was supposed to do about it. What would Merlin do, she wondered. Then she looked around the three small rooms with the dirt floors and hand-carved furniture and heard his voice say, _start small._

"I should help her by cleaning," she said out loud; enjoying the sound of her voice being the only one in earshot. She stood for a moment then looked once again at the rooms.

"How on Earth do I clean?"

* * *

"Morgana, I'm home," Hunith called out as she walked through the door. She was greeted with the extraordinary sight of the other woman angrily attacking a large iron cauldron with a cloth; muttering to herself as she worked.

"Morgana, what are you doing?" she said gently, putting down the books she had taken for the children to read.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Morgana fired back, "I'm cleaning. Every woman in the world knows how to clean. Every woman except, apparently, me. It's fine, of course, I'll just order somebody to do it. Oh, wait, there's nobody here to order."

"Where's your maidservant?" asked Hunith.

"Amelia? I told her to be somewhere I wasn't while we were here. I was forced to bring her because, according to Uther, travelling alone with the man I've been in a relationship with for the last four damn years was inappropriate. I only brought _her _because I haven't had time to replace her yet. She's spent more time in the last few months trying to seduce Merlin than actually doing her duty. I think she only agreed to come because she thought she'd have time with him. Because he's technically a peasant she thinks it's an achievable match and it would do so much good for her _social standing._"

She threw the cauldron down with a clatter and leant her weight against the table as if she was suddenly too heavy for her legs to take.

"I would make a terrible peasant farmer's wife."

Hunith came up to her and put one soothing hand on her shoulder.

"Morgana, my dear, sit down. I'll make you some tea. No, I'll do it," she said as Morgana, halfway into the chair, made to stand up again.

"Now, tell me what's really wrong? I could see that something troubled both you and my son last night. Please, forget that I am his mother. Tell me what troubles you."

Morgana sat down and rested her head in her hands for a moment.

"I don't even know where to begin," she admitted.

She sat like that while Hunith busied herself with the tea then, when it was ready, clutched the warm clay mug between her two hands as she stared off into space.

"I had a dream once, you know. I do that. I dream."

Hunith just nodded, obviously trying not to break the flow.

"Now I use my magic so often, now I've been trained a bit, I don't dream so much. But before Merlin I used to dream all the time. Terrifying. True dreams that I couldn't stop from happening for fear of Uther discovering my... _gift_.

"I had this dream... soon after Merlin and I were... after we became... whatever we are. It was the future, the far future. Merlin and I were finished and Arthur was dead upon a battlefield where we'd fought on opposite sides. I felt... I'd fought hard to stop the battle from happening but hadn't been successful. And Merlin... I'd caused him so much pain. And Arthur believed I had betrayed him somehow.

"My dreams nearly always come true so I accepted its truth. And I remember thinking... Merlin and I won't last anyway. I'll have to eventually do my duty for Camelot and he and I will have to end. But at least we'll have this, here and now. At least I'll have this memory to sustain me.

"And then... I've made mistakes, Hunith, bad mistakes. People have died for my mistakes. But Merlin and I worked through them. We got over them. And it's been more than three years, I thought... I started to think... forever. I started to think the dream was a tragedy that I had somehow averted."

Hunith gave her a gentle look so much like her son's that Morgana felt a surge of love for the woman.

"Have you told Merlin about this? About this dream?"

Morgana shook her head. "It's been a long time since I had it. But I've been having other ones. Wild ones about magic and power. In them I'm free to wield my magic as I choose. In them I'm truly free. It's almost as if there's someone else out there, someone powerful, that I'm connected to somehow. Someone free like I've never been.

"I have spent so many years of my life pretending to be someone I'm not. And I'm so happy with Merlin that I've stopped challenging Uther. I've let him commit atrocities, I've let him ride roughshod over my right to be free. I've watched executions and brutalities standing beside the most powerful sorcerer in Albion... maybe even the world... and we've done nothing to stop them. I think that's why Uther's let our relationship last this long. With Merlin, I'm... controllable. But now that Arthur has married so badly... at least from Uther's perspective..."

Hunith gave her a sad and understanding smile and freshened her cooling tea.

"Drink it, my dear, you'll be surprised what a cup of tea can cure."

Morgana smiled at her. "Merlin says that. He always makes me tea when I'm troubled. It's the worst tea in the whole world."

The two women shared an amused look of wordless agreement and Morgana took a sip of her delicious brew. The warmth and smell of the aromatic herbs did calm her and she felt a wave of relief for just being there with the one other woman in the world she could truly talk to.

"So," said Hunith, "Uther wants you to marry."

"Some Northern prince. The thing that makes me so... angry... is that Merlin knew this was possible if Arthur didn't marry this particular Princess. No, more than that, he knew it was _likely_. But he still did everything he could to promote Arthur's marriage to Gwen and he never told me, not once, that this could happen."

Morgana gave a tired eye roll. "Sir Vidor asked me to marry him, much to Merlin's annoyance. He's made no secret of his affection for me but I think he was as motivated by a genuine Knightly concern for my wellbeing. He offered me time on his estates until I had borne him an heir and then permission to spend the majority of my time at Court. I must admit, I was almost tempted. To stay in Camelot... but I can't, Hunith. After everything I've had... I just _can't_. Not Vidor, not some Northern prince, not anybody else, ever. I just _can't_."

"So," interposed Hunith, "you arrived here last night and had one wild thought that maybe you could get Merlin to run away with you back to Ealdor where there are no Knights or Northern princes or Uther's or strange prophetic dreams and you could live in comfortable obscurity growing crops and cleaning iron cauldrons."

Morgana met the other woman's ironic glance and laughed.

"Absurdity, I know." She looked around the room. "I love it here. I feel comfortable here and happy. But that's not the room or the village. That's you."

She gave the woman an affectionate glance and covered one hand with her own.

"This is not my life."

Hunith simply shook her head and placed her other hand on top.

"You're welcome to visit here any time though."


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N Well done GuildedDragonfly who already has her virtual cookies. Thank you to all my amazing reviewers, new and old. For you, I went straight into the next part of this arc.**

**

* * *

**

The mistakes we make

**Part 1**

Merlin ran across the fields to the small hut where his mother still lived; the Knights just trying to keep pace.

"Merlin, please calm down," pleaded Hunith, "what are you doing?"

"Where did she go? What did she say?" he asked, stopping suddenly and turning to face his mother.

"I'm sorry, Merlin, she didn't say where she was going. She just... she was upset and she said that it was her job to get rid of Uther so those with magic could be free."

"How would she do that?" Merlin muttered to himself, looking flustered.

"Camelot," Arthur said softly, "she would have gone to Camelot."

Merlin nodded grimly while the rest of the Knights looked on in a daze.

"We have to..." began Merlin but then paused. "No, we can't just appear in Camelot we should... I have to know for sure that... Morgana, what have you done?"

He stood helplessly for a moment his hands sliding through his thick black hair until it stood up in tufts above his angular face.

"Merlin," said Hunith calmly, walking over to gently pull his hands down and clasp them in hers, "come inside and have some tea. We'll think about it."

"No time. She's going to do something stupid. I just know it."

Yvain looked over his shoulder at the group of squires and other retainers who had appeared on the horizon.

"Merlin, whatever you are planning on doing you must do it before our servants arrive or they will see. We will keep your secret. They may not."

Merlin took a deep breath and nodded.

"I need some water."

"Water?" Tristan asked sceptically, "Merlin, we're all a bit thirsty after the ride but..."

"Water," he said definitely and then gave Hunith's hands a squeeze before letting go, "please, Mother. A bucket of water. And put it exactly where Morgana disappeared."

Hunith nodded and the water was brought promptly and placed where the vortex had carried the other woman away.

Merlin looked at the bucket, took a deep breath, then knelt down next to it and waved his hand over it.

Nothing happened.

"Damnit," he muttered, "if only Morgana was..." he looked up at Arthur, "she's so much better at scrying than I am."

"Yes, if Morgana was here she'd find herself in no time," said Arthur ironically. "Just get on with it, Merlin."

The warlock took another deep breath and the reflection of his eyes glowed yellow on the surface of the liquid. An image finally appeared. He looked at it for a moment then put his head in his hands.

"Lancelot, I want you and the rest of the Knights to stay here overnight to get some rest and then ride directly to Camelot on the morrow. Do not stop for anything even if you have to ride for two full days. Tell the squires you are simply eager to tell Uther the good news about our renewed treaty with Mercia.

"If they ask where Arthur and I have gone, tell them we have heard from the villagers about a new magical threat and we are travelling to vanquish it. Be vague. Details can catch you in a lie."

Lancelot simply nodded, as straight-backed and serious as ever.

"But where are you going?" asked Percival, concerned. The young Knight seemed to have assimilated the news of Merlin's magic completely and was back to his normal self. Vidor, by comparison, still on his stretcher, was remarkably silent.

"Arthur and I are going to find my father."

"You father," exclaimed Hunith, "but Merlin..."

"I'm sorry, mother, I know it's a painful subject but I have to. When I found out about... well, Gaius gave me some idea of where he was last seen. We'll go straight there and try to find him."

"Why?" asked Peregrine brusquely. "What do you need him for?"

"Yeah, Merlin," agreed Tristan, "what did you see?"

Merlin looked at Arthur and then back at their circle of confidants.

"Morgana has returned to a castle under siege. Somehow the Great Dragon has been freed and attacks Camelot as we speak. You ride back to the town's defence and Arthur and I... Arthur and I find my father. The last Dragonlord."


	52. Chapter 52

**The mistakes we make**

**Part 2**

Silence.

Merlin would never have said it because he simply didn't think of himself that way but in many aspects he was a philosopher. And he often found himself thinking... philosophising... about silence.

There was the wonderful comfortable silence between two lovers who had known each other for many years.

There was the glorious silence of a quiet morning lying in bed when you had nowhere in particular to be.

There was the falling pit of silence when you were a child and your mother was very angry at you (even if the other boy did really truly deserve to be pushed into the stream).

Silence, Merlin had realised, was to do with people only. You could be surrounded by sound and the silence could be deafening. Silence was not the absence of bird songs or rustling foraging animals or the wind howling in tall trees. Silence was not straining to hear a wolf's cry or the loping crunching gait of a larger animal.

Silence was about the people around us. Silence was the absence of voices.

This was silence.

* * *

They'd ridden as far as they could before darkness and the late hour forced them to strike a small camp for the night. They had forgone a fire, wolfed down camp rations, and snatched a few broken hours of sleep before forcing tired muscles onto horses and riding again. They had been travelling for several hours before the sun's wan autumnal rays had even managed to pierce through the gloom of the trees.

They rode with a kind of clichéd grim determination; their minds seemingly intent on achieving their task and not bothered with pointless conversation or with the other man riding beside him.

Arthur had not spoken a word apart from a few grunted commands the previous evening about the horses.

Merlin waited, the silence beginning to grow and take shape around him as a kind of dense miasmal blanket of soundless fog. He began to grow tense with the pointedness of the _nothing_ that Arthur was sending in his direction.

He had delayed forcing the conversation himself. He wanted to wait till Arthur was ready to speak. But now the quiet had extended itself until it seemed impenetrable. Merlin had to remind himself that it didn't really exist: it was just a product of his over-active mind and exhausted body.

Finally he pulled his horse up short in front of his Prince and turned to confront him. Passelande shied and the Prince had to pull tightly on its reigns to stop it from spilling him off.

"Gods, Merlin. _Idiot!_ What do you think you're doing?"

"If you're going to yell at me, Arthur, then just yell at me. It's been bad enough fighting with Morgana over the last few weeks. I can't stand this... endless silence... from you as well."

"I can't yell at you, Merlin," said Arthur, clearing enunciating each word as though they were wild horses he had to control tightly. "I'm too mad."

"Look, so much has happened since we met. I couldn't tell you _everything_."

"No, you could, Merlin, You definitely could. In fact, if I remember correctly, when I found out about your magic, you made a _commitment_ to tell me everything_._"

"The abridged version, Arthur," protested Merlin, "You asked for the abridged version."

"Well, Lord knows I'm no scholar or philosophiser, Merlin, and sometimes I've been known to take a while to work things out but don't you think, just maybe, that in the abridged version of _really really important things_ that have happened in the last few years, that you probably should have mentioned _the gigantic fucking dragon in the basement."_

"I thought you said you were too angry to yell at me," said Merlin with a grin, hoping to lighten the mood. He saw the clenched twitching muscles in Arthur's jaw and dragged a serious expression back onto his face.

"Look, Arthur," he began penitently; "I just assumed you knew. Your father didn't make any secret of the fact he'd captured the dragon... at least he didn't when he made the capture... admittedly, you were about two years old at the time so... but it's all documented..."

"Where is it documented?" demanded Arthur.

"In Geoffrey's archives," said Merlin.

"You mean the ones under lock and key that only you, Geoffrey and Gaius have access to?"

Merlin looked offended at that. "Any member of the monarchy or the ruling council can request information from the archives and we have an obligation to give an accurate and comprehensive account of that information when we report it to..."

"I know the law, Merlin!" shouted Arthur angrily, "I know the law because, in case you've forgotten, this is my Kingdom! And I can't request information if I don't know it exists."

Merlin looked lost for a moment then drew a deep breath and said sadly, "Arthur, you'd only just found out about my magic. If I told you the dragon was there... I was worried you might try to do something stupid. He's a powerful magical being and, possibly, dangerous and... I was worried that you may not trust me anymore."

Arthur kicked Passelande forward and drew up beside Merlin so he could look straight into his eyes. He lowered his voice for impact and said calmly, "When we get back, Merlin, you are telling me everything. And I mean, everything."

Merlin simply shook his head. "No, I won't."

"What?" growled Arthur.

"I said I won't. I keep too many secrets, Arthur, some for your own good and some for the good of Camelot. Some I keep for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with you.

"I'm not a gangly teenager anymore desperate to have _your_ approval. I am your advisor and your friend and... your equal. If I keep secrets, I keep them for a reason. And I'm not revealing them just because you demand it. You'll find them out if and when I believe that telling you is the best course of action."

"And this dragon that is now decimating my Kingdom?" demanded Arthur, "Where does that fit into Merlin's 'need-to-know' decision-making process?"

He was still angry but a flicker of respect had moved across his face at Merlin's stance. Pendragons had always admired strength.

Merlin turned his horse toward their destination again and spurred it into a trot. Arthur mirrored the action and the two began their journey again, the icy silence broken by the steamy debate.

"The dragon wants to be free," explained Merlin, "Of course it does. So would any of us. But it is restrained by an enchanted chain. As long as it was isolated and no one knew about it, it couldn't manipulate anybody into freeing it."

"If you're suggesting that I could be _manipulated_ by some lizard, Merlin, then I..."

"Not a lizard, Arthur. A one-thousand-year-old talking dragon with magical powers and yes, I think he's very good at manipulating just about anybody. I nearly set him free myself."

"What? Why?"

"Do you remember when I told you about Sigan and how I used that spell to put his... essence... back into the crystal?"

"Yes, of course."

"That spell came from the dragon. His price was his freedom. I was desperate and... I nearly made the bargain... but I..."

"But what?" asked Arthur, fascinated despite himself.

"He gave me this look. His mask slipped, just for a moment, and I saw this extraordinary eagerness, this engulfing hungry _greed_. I told him that I would release him... after you were King and magic had been returned to this land. He was angry, so angry. I realised that revenge on Uther was something he'd been clinging to.... like a piece of flotsam in a raging river. It was all he had. If I'd agreed to release him..."

"So how did he get free after all these years?" asked Arthur.

Merlin paused for a moment. "He must have found a way. I find it unlikely that there was anybody in Camelot with the ability to free him. _I_ could have..." he paused again, "Morgana could have. But we weren't there."

Arthur just nodded and Merlin took a small breath of relief that he'd accepted his word that Morgana couldn't be involved.

They rode for a while in a silence that was now more thoughtful and companionable until Arthur stopped the horse suddenly. Merlin pulled up his reigns to force his mount back to his Prince.

"Arthur?" he queried the other man.

Arthur gave him another confused and angry look.

"What the hell do you mean your father is a Dragonlord?"


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N Do you ever get that feeling of déjà vu? Yes, this is kinda sorta the chapter you just read. I wrote this chapter after a couple of really big days at work when I was just exhausted. Bad idea! I really didn't like it. I thought Arthur was OOC and that another chapter of M/A yabbering away in the forest was making the plot drag. So I've rewritten it to combine it and the next chapter together. Sorry for any confusion. **

**Oh, and yes, I've completely stolen a scene from the final ep of Season 2 and subverted it. I couldn't help myself.**

**

* * *

**

The mistakes we make

**Part 3**

The Knights had left Ealdor and pushed on through that day and all the next, stopping only to ease their body's most basic needs. Yvain was the most exhausted he had ever been in his life and he could not understand how the others could be so lively after the hard journey.

Lancelot still rode straight-backed at the front of their party. Tristan and Caradoc still bickered about their differing attitudes to romance, even as every passing minute saw Tristan grow paler from trying to stay upright in his saddle despite his wound. Peregrine was as stoically silent as ever and Percival rode in a romantic daze about Merlin's new powers, his shoulder bandaged from the crossbow bolt.

Vidor was the only one who seemed changed and Yvain wasn't yet sure whether it was for the better.

"This dragon," said Percival finally, being the first to break their unspoken decision not to discuss what they would face in Camelot, "how do we fight it?"

"We do not," replied Lancelot calmly, his eyes never leaving the path. Yvain wondered if the others noticed how those shoulders were stiffer now. He was far more concerned than he appeared. "We simply hold our positions and protect the people until Merlin and Arthur return with help."

"If they do return with help," muttered Vidor.

Caradoc turned around on his horse with a look of thunder on his face.

"You do not speak about your Prince like that," he barked to the sullen man at the back of their party.

"I'm not speaking about my_ Prince_," countered Vidor, "I'm speaking about Merlin. He's been discovered. Are you telling me you trust him to return to Camelot? For all he knows, we ride back to Uther to reveal his secret. If I were him..."

Tristan stopped and turned his horse around to face the other man, a look of bloody murder on his face.

"But you're not him," he said angrily, "as much as we all know you'd like to be sometimes."

"You're one to talk," bristled Vidor, "you're so busy waxing lyrical about courtly love and noble women you haven't noticed that you insult the Queen every time you do."

"Maybe if you weren't so busy trying to get up Morgana's skirts than..."

"I was trying to do the right thing," yelled Vidor.

"Oh, and the right thing just happily resulted in her being forced to your bed."

"I would never...." spluttered Vidor, "she would have.... I would.... I could have made her happy. Unlike _Merlin_ who could have apparently snapped his fingers at any time and made Uther do whatever he wanted. How can he have that much power and let the King do something that would make her so miserable? I can't believe that he could be so... dishonourable... as to just _dispose _of her like that.... and...."

"Enough!" roared Peregrine, shocking everybody into silence.

Lancelot stopped finally and nodded to Peregrine in acknowledgement. "We arrive in Camelot in less than two hours," he said, "I expect people to see the noble Knights of Camelot riding bravely to their rescue not a pack of children brawling. Merlin and Arthur _will return_," he directed this last comment to Vidor, "with help as soon as they are able. Until then we know what we must do."

Vidor looked as though he was about to argue but one glare from Caradoc chastened him and the group rode the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

The autumn rain that began once more to pour down upon their sodden, exhausted heads seemed to reflect the two mens' moods as they made their way slowly to the village where Merlin's father, Balinor, had last been seen.

They checked into the local inn and sat unobtrusively in the main room eating their sparse meal and drinking a mug of ale. It seemed that their arguments had grown as sodden as themselves and they ate and drank in not-quite-amiable silence.

They went up to their room then, laying their wet clothes to dry by the fireplace as they bathed and then lay down on their cots.

"It's going to be freezing in here without clothes on," noted Merlin unhappily.

"It'd be colder trying to sleep in wet clothes," countered Arthur, "besides you're the one that sent the Knights and servants straight to Camelot with all our extra clothing."

"We couldn't afford the extra horse to carry them," argued Merlin, "we needed speed."

"Well, we're here now. No Balinor. And everyone we ask denies knowledge of him."

"Last time I came here he was living as a hermit in a cave nearby. We'll go there tomorrow. Hopefully it will have stopped raining."

Arthur's expression froze at the words 'last time I was here' and Merlin thought he was going to launch once again into the argument they'd had almost that entire day. Instead the Prince relaxed and Merlin gratefully took the reprieve.

He shut his eyes and began to flutter into a light sleep when a pillow hit his head.

"Wake up," ordered Arthur, "I haven't finished talking to you about this. I don't like that you have secrets from me. You're supposed to serve me and to do that you need to tell me everything. So I demand you tell me everything. To do anything else implies that I'm... untrustworthy."

"I told you, Arthur," groaned Merlin, wanting desperately to fall into oblivion or a few hours, "my mother told me about my father after I nearly died from that crossbow bolt. But she told me he was a Dragonlord that Uther had sentenced to death. It's like my magic. If I told you, I'd put you in a position where you had to decide between the law of Camelot and me. I couldn't do that to you."

"But you visited him?"

"Yes. I wanted to meet him. He was... well, he was a hermit. He'd forgotten how to talk to people. He didn't bathe. Hadn't shaved in years. I tried to talk him into going back to Ealdor but he didn't believe it was safe. Or maybe he was just scared of seeing my mother again after so many years. I don't know. Either way he stayed and I went back to my life in Camelot."

"Merlin, did you or did you not promise me that when your mother finally told you about your father...."

"Yes," Merlin conceded, "But I decided it was too dangerous – for him and for you."

He rolled over onto his side and propped his head up with one hand.

"I am sorry I didn't tell you. I had my reasons but I am sorry. I truly am. I'm sorry."

There was a long pause and Merlin thought that the Prince had finally drifted off when he suddenly said in a clipped tone.

"Apology accepted."

Merlin grinned in the dark room and slipped into sleep.

* * *

The Knights rode through the empty cobbled streets of the city confused by the silent calm. They had expected chaos and death and fire but here was... nothing.

"Maybe they've run," suggested Vidor and Tristan shot him a vicious glance that said their argument was not yet over.

"You may be a coward but the King and Leon are not."

"They've obviously fortified inside the Keep itself," said Lancelot, more to forestall their impending clash than to provide information. "The main gates are closed. The Lower Town has been abandoned."

"Then this dragon must be formidable," said Percival, in voice wavering slightly.

Yvain could sympathise with the young Knight. He had to admit to a genuine terror stealing its way up his limbs. It was the empty streets, the strange silence that seemed to amplify the feeling; the sense that in the nothingness there was a something terrible waiting to appear from behind or in the periphery of their vision.

He looked at the well standing in the main square.

"They've had to abandon the water," he whispered, "if we don't defeat this then..."

"Gwen," exclaimed Lancelot suddenly.

Yvain turned and saw the Queen sidling toward the water pump, too busy scouring the sky for the beast to see them.

Lancelot's face blanched and he called out to her to get back inside.

She noticed him then and, after a start of surprise, shook her head in determination and headed toward the pump.

As she began drawing water, a gigantic shadow, the likes of which Yvain could not have even envisioned in his most terrifying nightmare, fell over the square and a terrible lizard dived down into the courtyard to the girl standing pumping water at the well.

"Guinevere!" yelled Lancelot and he slid off his horse and pelted across the courtyard throwing himself on top of her so that the dragon's claw raked down his armoured back and tore down the back of his legs.

"My Queen," he said awkwardly, as if suddenly realising he was lying atop her.

"Good Knight," she answered politely and then made a gentle gesture to be released. Lancelot helped her up and she smoothed down her simple woven dress.

"We need to get inside," she commanded, "Leon and the rest of the Knights and guards have all been injured by the Dragon. We're fortified in the Keep. The Dragon mostly attacks at night when we are at the greatest disadvantage but...." she waved her hand at the beast flying back toward Camelot for a second charge.

"And the King?" asked Caradoc with concern.

"The King..." Gwen paused, "The King rode out against the dragon himself and was seriously injured. Unless these attacks stop and we can restock our medical supplies, the King.... the King will die. Now come along...." she stopped, her eyes suddenly taking in the reduced group. Her hands gripped the dress suddenly, the tendons standing out on her slim arms.

"Where's Arthur?"

"Gone to get help, although that is not the story I will tell everyone. Obviously. Merlin scried the dragon's release and they have gone to find a Dragonlord."

Yvain followed Lancelot's gaze as he watched the dragon in the distance happily destroying the wheat fields just outside of Camelot's gates.

"If things are as grim as they appear here, we can only hope their trip is successful and they return with help... and soon."

* * *

The light sprinkle of autumn rain dripped off the rocks onto moss-covered ground as Merlin and Arthur walked their unsteady horses toward Balinor's cave.

As they got closer, Merlin got increasingly pensive about their welcome until Arthur finally told him that the man was his father and to stop being such a bloody girl. The other man's mood lightened somewhat at the old insult and their progress improved until Merlin finally waved for them to stop.

"This is the edge of my father's property. At least in his mind. We should camp and wait for him to notice us. Otherwise he might... um... attack us."

"Attack us," exclaimed Arthur disbelievingly.

"Well, he is a hermit, Arthur," argued Merlin, "I told you. He's forgotten how to talk to people. And also..."

"No, Merlin, there can't be more," protested Arthur, "surely."

"Well, it's just... Arthur, you know how I have such strong magic..."

At this further revelation, the Prince simply dropped his head into his bare hands and began to laugh.

"Oh Gods, Merlin, what else? Come on, you can tell me. Let me guess... he's also a Druid King who's next in line to rule? Maybe he's secretly a bunny rabbit in disguise? Um? One with big nasty teeth and a killer overbite. Is he going to hop up and rip our throats out? Come on, you can tell me."

Merlin gave a muted grin but a grin nonetheless, "Don't be ridiculous, Arthur. That's all, I promise you. Just a Dragonlord of the old religion who happens to be my father and was sentenced to death by your father for the crime of being a very powerful magical being. That's all."

"Oh, that's all, is it? Well, if that's _all_, Merlin. Wait, didn't you once tell me that any warlock with real skill had nothing to fear from execution. Why did your father run?"

"Because he may be able to protect himself but couldn't protect his family or the people he cared about. Besides, his gift isn't violence. It's illusion."

"Illusion?" asked Arthur, intrigued, "What does that mean?"

"It means he's sitting right beside you sharing your fire," said a guttural voice and both men gave a sharp startled jump and then leaped up and grabbed their weapons as a man wavered into view right beside where Arthur had been warming himself.

"Is that any way to greet your father, son?" he said, with a pleased smile as he beheld Merlin.

"Father," sighed Merlin, happily and he grasped the older man's hand in his own.

Balinor was, as Merlin had promised, unwashed, unshaven and generally unkempt. But he had a keen sparkle in his eye that reminded Arthur of his son.

"My son," Balinor said and a few tears ran unashamedly down his cheeks. It appeared that the man was as openly emotional as Merlin as well. "I had hoped you would return. I have been waiting for many years to see you again. And this must be Prince Arthur? The man who is only his father's son in the best ways."

Arthur was somewhat taken aback at being described in that way but greeted the hermit warmly nonetheless.

"What do you do here? Since you have brought Uther's son I cannot imagine it is a social call."

Merlin shook his head. "I'm sorry, father, no. The Great Dragon has been freed and attacks Camelot. We need you to come with us to defeat him. Will you help us?"

Balinor gave his son a proud look, the tears still staining his filthy cheeks, and squeezed the hand he held more tightly.

"No," he said simply and began to walk back toward his cave, the two stunned men following behind him.


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N It's possible I got a little carried away with the length of this but every time I thought I should break it up I changed my mind. Enjoy.**

**

* * *

**

The mistakes we make

**Part 4**

"Why?" was all Merlin asked when they finally caught up with his father. He had entered his cave and settled down to make a midday meal.

"Why won't you help us stop the Dragon? It's not Uther who will suffer, you know. It's the ordinary people and those who will stand to fight against him. They will suffer. They will die. I know you hate Uther but...."

Merlin stopped helplessly and his father gave him a brief inscrutable look before turning back to his stew. He threw some roots and herbs into the pot and then began stirring.

"I've given you my answer," he said briefly, "there is nothing more to say."

* * *

The Keep was a confused and jumbled mess of citizens, guards and the injured lying on hastily-constructed pallets. Yvain noticed that the Lords and Ladies of the Court had tried to separate themselves from the masses but had succeeded only in squeezing themselves into a tight and uncomfortable corner with their servants and staff.

When the Knights walked in, their steeds tied up unavoidably exposed in the Courtyard, the common people of the town set up a ragged cheer.

"Leon," Lancelot yelled. Yvain followed the Knight as he strode across the room toward where Leon was lying on a pallet with a bandaged stomach.

"Lancelot?" asked Leon, slightly confused. "My Prince...?"

"When we returned to Ealdor, we discovered a magical threat to the Kingdom. Not knowing of the attack on Camelot, Merlin and Arthur went to counter it. Morgana and her maid stayed in Ealdor with the other servants. Ironically, we were riding back quickly to tell the King the... good news... about our treaty with Mercia."

Leon looked to his left where a man was lying pallid and unconscious.

"No," said Percival softly, "the King...?"

"One of the creature's claws stuck him in the leg. The wound is infected and Gaius has been unable to heal him. He says he needs...," Leon shook his head and closed his eyes as a wave of tiredness seemed to wash over him, "... something. Some root or herb or... something."

"Arrowroot," said Malcolm as he appeared and began to unwind the bandage covering Leon's wound, "we're out of arrowroot. Also hyssop and liquorice, although these we bought from southern traders and are not easily replaced."

"And if we don't get this arrowroot?" asked Yvain.

Malcolm gave him a wary look and then glanced around the room at the people crowded about them.

"Let's just say it would be better if we could," he said carefully.

Leon who had closed his eyes now opened them again and saw what Malcolm was doing.

"No, leave me," he ordered the boy, "there are others more injured. The King...."

"I will do it," volunteered Gwen, "you go and help the others."

Malcolm nodded and headed off to join Gaius on the other side of the room as Gwen finished unwinding Leon's bandage and began to wash his wound with the water she had gotten from the well.

She and Lancelot exchanged a look that Yvain couldn't recognise and then he surveyed the room for a moment, lost in thought.

"How many Knights are fit enough to ride out?"

"Five," replied Gwen, "maybe six, plus you. But every time the beast has attacked no tactic has worked. We send Knights out for our defence but... I think it sees them as... playthings. Pleasurable entertainment to pass the time."

"But how did it get free?" queried Yvain, "What does it want?"

"I was there when it was captured," volunteered Caradoc, "I was one of Uther's Knights even then. He lured it to a meeting by telling the Dragonlord Balinor that he wanted to open a dialogue with it. Once he chained it, he sentenced the Dragonlord to death for the use of magic and imprisoned the Dragon underneath the castle."

"Revenge," said Peregrine.

Caradoc nodded, the scar on his right cheek seeming to stand out in the dying daylight.

"I got this," he gestured to it, "from the beast when it tried to escape. As the Queen said, he could have killed me but he was just... playing. The King imprisoned him as a warning. This was a warning as well. A promise of what he would do to Uther when he got free. "

"But the King is dying," protested Percival, "so why does it still attack?"

"He wants Uther to see his people suffer," speculated Yvain, "He wants him to know how severely he has lost."

"Then we will fight," declared Tristan, pulling Fail Not from its home on his back. "We will ride out against this beast and we will bring back the arrowroot while we're there."

"Brave but foolish," said Caradoc harshly, "we should stay in the Keep until the Prince arrives. He and Merlin will..."

"I refuse to put my life in Merlin's hands," interrupted Vidor, "I don't trust him."

"Don't trust him?" asked Gwen, confused, "What?"

Lancelot waved his hand to dismiss the conversation.

"We have no choice but to try to defend Camelot ourselves. We will take all able-bodied men and ride out at dawn."

"No," protested Gwen, "there has to be another way." She looked straight at Lancelot, "You are my champion. The Queen demands her champion stay by her side for her protection."

"I'm sorry, my Queen, but with Leon injured that is not possible. We get some rest now and ride out at dawn."

He looked at Percival and Tristan who were conferring eagerly about the coming battle, "I said 'able-bodied'. That's not you two. You're both injured and you're both staying here."

"But..." Tristan protested.

"No arguments," said Lancelot, "you're no good to me like this. The rest of you, be ready to ride out first thing."

And he walked grimly away.

* * *

The rain began again as they finished eating. The meal had been conducted in an uncomfortable silence and the lack of human voices seemed exaggerated by the rhythmic pounding of the droplets on the stone.

As the afternoon deepened into early evening, Balinor brewed a herbal tea and handed it to the two men with a grunt. Merlin gave his father a disappointed look before blowing on the wooden cup to cool the contents.

Arthur waited for Merlin to speak as the hours ticked by. He was so used to his friend's enthusiasm and inability to keep quiet that he found it difficult to believe he had not challenged his father's decision. Instead he simply sat in disgruntled silence as the hermit went about his usual routine.

"This is ridiculous," he exclaimed, finally, throwing his cup onto the ground. "My Kingdom is being _attacked_, my people are _dying_ and you don't even have the decency to tell me why you won't help us. You hate my father. I understand that. But I'm sorry, that just isn't a good enough reason."

The only acknowledgment Balinor gave him was to flick his eyes briefly in the Prince's direction. Then he returned his concentration to his tea.

"Fine," declared Arthur and he stood up abruptly. "I'm not convinced you can help us anyway. This is a dragon and I fail to see how one man can fight it. Come on Merlin, we're wasting our time with this... coward."

"You dare call me a coward," yelled Balinor as he stood up, his wiry frame seeming to expand to the ceiling and his black beard and wild black hair bristling with suppressed fury. "You who are Uther's son. The greatest lying coward of them all."

"My father is a great man," asserted Arthur, "his position on magic is wrong and he can be a little... unreasonably obsessed... but he is no coward. He at least would never cower in a cave when he is needed elsewhere."

"As far as I'm concerned, all who live in Camelot are complicit with that traitorous bastard and deserve their fate."

"You dare condemn innocent people for the Kingdom in which they were born while demanding my father not do the same for those with magic. You are a hypocrite... and a useless one at that."

"Please," protested Merlin softly but the two men ignored him.

"Do you know what that traitor did?" growled Balinor, "Do you have any idea what your _adored_ father did twenty five years ago? Anyone who has released Kilgharrah and allowed him flight is a hero and should be celebrated as such."

"Please," pleaded Merlin, his voice rising softly.

"I don't believe that you're Merlin's father. Or Gaius' friend. Hunith would never fall in love with someone so... pathetic."

"Do not speak her name," demanded Balinor fiercely, "you're not worthy."

"I'm not worthy? The only thing you're worthy of is this wet, mouldy cave. Well fine, stay here. Grow old and die here, cold and alone. Your wife is a mere day's ride away, alive and alone, and yet you've stayed here for _years_ since you found out. Pathetic. And a coward."

"Please," Merlin begged them, standing up between them with tears forming in his eyes, "please... just _stop_. Stop yelling at each other, I can't..."

He put down his tea and turned to his father. He took a deep breath to hold back the emotions threatening to overcome him.

"Will you help us defeat Kilgharrah?'

"No," said Balinor definitely, "I will not. Camelot is getting what she deserves."

"Then we have no reason to stay. We will have to return and hope that my magic..."

"Kilgharrah is a being of magic," interjected Balinor, "you and your magic are useless against it. When I die you will become a Dragonlord like me...."

Arthur started at that information.

"... but for now you are as helpless as..." he waved his hand toward Arthur. "If you face him, you'll die."

"Then I die," said Merlin in a tone that brooked no argument. "Come on Arthur, there's no point in delaying any longer."

"It's nearly nightfall," said Balinor, "at least wait until dawn."

"I can die just as easily at dusk as at dawn," said Merlin angrily, "come on Arthur. I have a spell to try that should take us back to Camelot instantly. I've never used it before but... well, there's no point staying here."

"Son, please," pleaded Balinor, "please... don't..."

"Don't what? Don't die? I'll do my best."

He turned to leave the cave and then stopped for a moment before turning back. The evening sun came through the entrance turning Merlin into an outline ringed by gold.

"He's right, you know," he said softly, "I thought you'd be... my mother and Gaius are so brave... they'd do anything for anybody... I'd hoped that you... it doesn't matter."

He turned back again and Arthur shot Balinor a disgusted look before following him.

"Uther was my friend," Balinor called out suddenly.

"What?" exclaimed Arthur, disbelievingly, "I do not believe that..."

"There was a group of us," Balinor continued, cutting him off and sitting back at the fire to pour a new cup of tea, "We were a... magical circle of advisors. We helped to defend the Kingdom against magical attacks and Uther... Uther was my greatest friend. When Ygraine," he nodded to Arthur, "your mother died, he went a little mad. He blamed Nimueh..."

"Why?" interrupted Arthur, "what does this have to do with my mother? And Nimueh? Are you saying that Nimueh was in this circle?"

Balinor glanced at Merlin then turned back to the Prince.

"You know Nimueh? No, do not answer. I have a story to tell. Let me just tell it. I'm not... I'm not used to speaking so much. Please, do not interrupt."

He took a sip of tea and marshalled his thoughts.

"Your mother died and he blamed Nimueh. So did I, so when he moved against her I supported him. Then he decided it was evidence that users of magic had been given too much freedom. I agreed with him there too."

"You agreed with him?" asked Arthur, drawn in despite himself.

"You have to understand. Magic was used for everything. A simple argument could become deadly in seconds. People who would once throw words threw spells instead. Curses were common. So much suffering."

Balinor dropped his head onto his hands. "I didn't notice his madness. I thought his actions were reasonable. Each step was so small that I didn't see how far he'd strayed from sanity. One day he executed an old, harmless woman. She was a healer who provided the contraceptives to local women and helped them get rid of unwanted pregnancies. It was old magic. Simple, benign. Uther declared he would execute any woman who dared to interfere with procreation."

"What did you do?" asked Arthur. He seemed caught between disbelief and fascination with the story. His father rarely talked of his mother and never spoke of her death.

"I protested, strongly. Your father pretended to hear me. He told me to find Kilgharrah, the last dragon, and offer him a truce. He said his purge was over. I... I believed him. I brought Kilgharrah to Camelot and, once he was there, your father imprisoned him and sentenced me to death. His oldest, truest friend."

He stuttered to a halt then, his unusually-long speech apparently over. The silence extended out like a rubber band that would eventually break and fling back to hit its holder in the face.

Arthur looked at him thoughtfully for one long minute and then wiped his hair away from his face.

"That old woman - the one who was executed," he said finally, "hundreds of her will die again if you don't help. I don't know... I don't know if I believe what you've told me about my father. I don't know what to feel about that at all. But if you believe the things you say you do, if you are as angry about injustice as you seem, then you have no choice."

"Please, Father," said Merlin earnestly, "please."

Balinor downed his tea and looked at the darkened cave wall as though his attention had completely wandered. Then he looked back again and stoked the fire with a stick.

"I don't know," he said. "I'm not entirely sure that if I saw Uther again I wouldn't do the same thing as Kilgharrah. Hatred is a terrible thing, my son. It lives and grows inside you quietly, unnoticed. You don't know how large and how... unmanageable... it has become until...

"Very well. At dawn then. But I do this for... old women and the innocents of Camelot. Not for Uther and....," he looked straight at Arthur with anger bubbling in his dark eyes, "not for you. Now, get some rest. We leave first thing."

* * *

The Knights rode out at dawn; their armour gleaming in the golden rays of an otherwise gorgeous sunrise. Yvain, Vidor, Caradoc, Peregrine and six others who were deemed able-bodied lined up in the Courtyard preparing to set out. In the distance, they could see Kilgharrah firing fields in the distance. He had attacked the fortified Keep all night and they had all gotten very little sleep.

"Lancelot!" a voice called out and Guinevere came into the Courtyard. "As Queen's champion, it is my duty to wish you luck," she said, her voice hitching slightly.

"I am grateful, my Queen," replied Lancelot graciously. She handed him an embroidered handkerchief and he took it and tucked it into his gauntlet.

"Good luck," she told them all and then they slammed down their visors and rode toward the city gates.

Yvain kicked his horse up to Lancelot and drew alongside him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to him so the others could not hear, "I did not know."

"Know what?" asked Lancelot.

"That you... I thought that you came with us to Mercia because you knew Merlin's secret. But that wasn't the reason, was it?"

"No," agreed Lancelot softly, "it wasn't."

"The Queen is virtuous and you are honourable. I can't imagine Arthur believes that..."

"He doesn't. He knows that we would never... but others do. The gossip were I to remain while he departed...."

"You came for her sake, for the sake of her reputation."

Lancelot simply nodded.

"If we die today, Sir Lancelot," said Yvain, "then know that it has been a privilege for me to have met you."

"You are a good man, Yvain." The older Knight smiled. "And we will not die today."

They rode out the main gates and towards the fields, the dragon seeming to grow in size and ferocity as they rode.

"Gods, I have never seen something so massive," breathed one of the young Knights in fear. He had been a squire until the evening before when Lancelot had Knighted him so he could ride out with them that morning, "its size is impossible."

"Phalanx!" ordered Lancelot and the Knights lined up behind him.

"You need uneven numbers for a phalanx," sang a happy voice. Yvain swung around to see Tristan quietly bringing up the rear. He had strapped himself to his horse so his useless leg couldn't unbalance him and had drawn Fail Not in preparation.

"Come now, boys, what's the matter? Are you frightened of a little lizard?" He banged his visor down and took the final position in the phalanx.

"Tristan," began Lancelot, "I told you to..."

"How can I prove my love to the wondrous Yseult if I do not ride fearlessly into battle against impossible odds?" argued Tristan, "No Knight had women fall in love with him because he bravely stayed in the infirmary. Just think of all the women in Camelot who will adore me after this glorious victory."

"You call that love," growled Caradoc with a grin, "that's not love."

"I beg to differ, scar face. That is love and I will have it. And if that means riding against an unstoppable fire-breathing dragon with one useless limb... I say, I am Tristan and I will win."

Lancelot and Yvain smiled at the two men's now familiar argument and then turned to face the beast. They sat there for a moment, Yvain feeling the extraordinary strength that flowed to him from riding into battle with these men who had come to trust with his very life.

He once again felt that strange dislocating sensation of having come home.

"I am Yvain," he called out, "Yvain of Camelot!"

"For Camelot!" yelled Lancelot and he drew his sword to raise it above his head.

"For Camelot!" they yelled behind him and then they launched themselves towards their prey.

* * *

"Merlin?" asked Arthur as they gathered in the clearing outside Balinor's cave the next day. "You say you've never used this spell. What happens if it doesn't work?"

"We cease to exist," replied Merlin off-handedly and then he laughed when Arthur blanched.

"I'm joking. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. We walk home. But it will. I'm sure of it."

"Father?" he enquired as Balinor hovered uncertainly outside the circle he'd created.

"I haven't changed my mind," he said softly, "I just...."

He pulled out three small carved wooden dragons and handed them to his son.

"I made these for you. One for every year since I found out about you. Like a... birthday present. I wanted you to have them."

Merlin looked at the rough carvings and smiled.

"They're beautiful, father. Perfect. Now come on. We have a Kingdom to save."

He gathered them into the circle and then concentrated for a moment.

"Edhwierft," he said and Arthur had the strangely disconcerting feeling of _fading_. He was about to panic when he suddenly felt whole again.

He looked around in confusion.

"Where are we?"

"The fields near Camelot. Now, father, you should use your gift of illusion so that... Gods, no."

The two men followed his gaze to the nearby field where the dragon was attacking a dozen or so Knights of Camelot.

"We must hurry," ordered Arthur as Kilgharrah swooped Peregrine and threw him off his horse. He landed with a thump on his shoulder and cried out in pain.

"Peregrine?" Lancelot slid off his horse and ran to the taciturn Knight's side. "Are you alright?"

"Just winded," he answered huskily.

A fierce scream rent through the air and every man stopped and looked up to see Tristan in the dragon's jaws. The beast had torn him off the horse, the strapped and injured leg merely serving to exacerbate his pain as he was dragged screaming off his steed.

The dragon threw the man like rag doll and he landed, feet first, on the grass, a screaming cry of pain flying from his lips as his damaged leg cracked and splintered like so much driftwood.

"Tristan?" Lancelot ran over to the other man and looked helplessly at the bloodied stump that was once his leg.

"Lancelot!" called Merlin and he and Balinor began running across the field. Arthur drew his sword and joined the other Knights where they stood prepared to face the dragon should it swoop again.

Merlin and Balinor reached Tristan and Lancelot first and Arthur saw Balinor concentrating as he ran, obviously trying to reach down and draw on his atrophied Dragonlord abilities. He stopped at Lancelot's side and, just as his son turned to him to discuss their plan, Balinor was hit by the edge of the roaring, boiling fire that Kilgharrah unleashed on the Knight beside him.

Lancelot shrieked as he was roasted in his white-hot metallic armour and Balinor fell to the ground beside him; still alive but so seriously burned that he was unlikely to survive.

And in the air above him, Kilgharrah flew away... his laughter echoing in the heated air.


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N Did I promise some people Morgana in this chapter? Umm, sorry! This segues naturally into chapter 44 so I'm leaving it here and will very quickly write the next part this weekend.**

**I'm considering a beta as a way to get an extra level of feedback on my work. Any takers?**

**

* * *

**

The mistakes we make

**Part 5**

The sky above him was blue, he noticed; the kind of bleached powder-blue of a bright summer's day. In the air was the heavy scent of sap and he could hear the vibrating consistent clicking of the cicadas in the woods beside him.

A gentle breeze caused the tops of the pine trees to sway slightly and cooled the face if you stood in the warm sun for too long.

It was perfect, he thought. An absolutely perfect day and there was no blood in the field, no dead burnt bodies on the ground. This had not happened. As long as he kept looking up at the few fluffy clouds rolling slowly through the sky, this was a perfect day.

A perfect day.

* * *

Lancelot shrieked; an horrifically-alien sound for anyone familiar with the knight's nonchalant heroism. His armour gleamed white-hot as the dragon's inferno engulfed him and then his burnt corpse collapsed in front of an uncomprehending Merlin.

The warlock took an unconscious step toward the charred body of his friend before his stunned mind registered an impossible, inconceivable thought: beside the remains of the noble knight of Camelot lay his father thrown sideways by the blast.

Balinor cried out in surprise and then in pain as his nerve endings relayed the reality of seared flesh to his brain.

Merlin simply stood there; unable to register, let alone to act upon, what his eyes were seeing. He had observed horrors in his life - death and destruction and disease – but never had such devastation been so close to home.

Father, he mouthed silently, unwilling to let out the sounds that would acknowledge what he knew to be true. Lancelot, he whispered voicelessly.

He looked around suddenly, wildly, not knowing where he was or how this had happened. The sky above him was blue, he noticed; the kind of bleached powder-blue of a bright summer's day. In the air was the heavy scent of sap and he could hear the rumbling consistent chatter of the cicadas in the woods beside him.

A gentle breeze caused the tops of the pine trees to sway slightly and cooled the face if you stood in the warm sun for too long.

It was perfect, he thought. An absolutely perfect day and there was no blood in the field, no dead burnt bodies on the ground. This had not happened. As long as he kept looking up at the few fluffy clouds rolling slowly through the sky, this was a perfect day.

A perfect day.

He saw Arthur with Vidor, Peregrine, Caradoc, Yvain and some other very young man – the only Knights left standing – form up into a phalanx to defend against the dragon who was coming around for another pass.

"Father," he managed. His feet finally moved to take him to his side, his hands finally worked to hold his hand and put a palm upon his scorched face, and his mouth finally allowed him to form the words he needed to say.

"Father?" he sobbed and Balinor's eyes cracked open and then rolled around wildly for a moment in confusion.

"My son," he said finally, his damaged throat and lungs causing his voice to wheeze out in an alarming whisper.

"My son."

"Father. I'm here. Father, you'll be alright."

"No," he said vaguely, his susurrant voice no louder than the breeze, "no."

"There's a spell..."

"No... he didn't know.... didn't know..."

"...it takes a lot out of me and I may be weak for a while but...."

"... hatred, Merlin, hatred. Like hope. Hatred. Like hope...."

"....never used it on someone so badly injured but it will work, it _has to work_...."

"... no time... he didn't know... she... don't judge her...my son, my son, where are you?"

"I'm here, father," said Merlin, his voice hitching as he forced his tears back so he could cast the spell.

"Batian ágíemende háligan forbærnan," he cried and he felt the drain as his own vitality flowed out towards his father and... sank uselessly into the vast depths of his need. Merlin collapsed on the ground beside him, the tears overwhelming him as he realised he could do nothing to save him.

"My son, my son," his father's voice broke through his premature grief and he struggled to sit upright beside him.

"My son?"

"I'm here father."

"Hope, Merlin. Hope."

"I don't understand," admitted Merlin with a sob.

"Hope blinds. Hatred. I told you... told you... lives and grows inside you... until it's so large. Hatred blinds. It's all you see and then when it's gone...

"... I saw his mind, Merlin, his mind. He didn't know it was me until after he...

".. saw his mind. Hatred. Gone now. Gone. All that's left... worse than death... worse... the knowledge. What you've done... hatred's gone now. She's in the forest, hiding. Find her. Forgive her. She is Kilgharrah. Kilgharrah is me. We are all Uther... all Uther in the end. He begets himself. Forgive us... forgive us all... our hatred. Blinds."

He closed his eyes then and Merlin placed his head on his chest and felt the grief dissipate as something like anger flooded through him.

His father, Lancelot, the other Knights and how many innocents of Camelot? All perished, burned, tortured or deprived of their crops and homes and families. All of this... and his father wanted him to forgive him? Forgive the beast his acts of anger and hatred against innocents who had no part in his capture and probably, like Arthur, hadn't even known that he was there?

He lifted his head and saw Kilgharrah swoop down on the unnamed knight and use one fierce claw to slit his throat. The dragon knocked Arthur down as he flew by, spears and arrows bouncing off his hide as if it was metal. The blood flew from the young knight's jugular and splattered his liege as he lay injured on the ground.

Arthur struggled upright and grabbed his ribs momentarily in a telltale sign that they were broken. Merlin looked up at the sky at the monstrous lizard flying overhead.

"Why? You said he was the once and future king! You told me to protect him! Why would you threaten his life? His heritage? The Kingdom he will one day inherit?"

"Why?" he screamed at the perfect sky, "Why? Come here and answer me, you pathetic bastard. Why?

"Lancelot was a champion of magic. We worked together to bring it back to the land. Why?

"My father was your friend, a Dragonlord. Why? Why? Why?"

Merlin stopped and rested his hands on his knees, his voice hoarse from screeching at the uncaring sky.

"The power's yours now," he heard a whispered voice behind him, "use it wisely. Don't fall into our trap, my son. Don't fall into hatred."

He whirled around and saw Balinor open his brown eyes one last time and then shudder as he slid into death.

* * *

"Merlin?" a tentative voice spoke his name. He came to and realised he was sitting in shadow, still beside his father's body.

"Merlin?"

He looked up and saw Arthur and Caradoc blocking out the midday sun.

"We're returning to Camelot and regrouping. Apparently we need to find some arrowroot..."

"I have arrowroot," said Merlin vaguely and he handed over his bag. "Some other healing herbs as well. Take them. Say you... found them..."

"Found them?" queried Arthur, confused.

"You and I aren't here," explained Merlin, his eyes still unfocused. "It's not enough time. People will ask questions and we don't have good answers. I... I...," he paused and shook his head to clear it, "I'm the Dragonlord now. I'll deal with Kilgharrah. Arthur, I'll send you back to Ealdor and I'll find Morgana. She must be here somewhere; probably hiding from the dragon's attack."

"I'll come with you," Vidor stated.

"No," Merlin said, sharply, adamantly, "no. I have to go alone. If anyone asks, she is still in Ealdor. We'll come up with a better story... later... yes, later."

"Merlin, what do we tell them about the dragon?" asked Caradoc.

"Lancelot... Lancelot was a hero. He slew the dragon and lost his life in the process."

The knights nodded in pleased agreement, although Vidor looked dissatisfied at being forced to return to Camelot.

"Caradoc," said Arthur, "you're in charge of the Knights for now. Leon?"

"Seriously injured."

"Then lead them until he is fit for battle. I'll head straight back to Camelot on foot with the servants as soon as I arrive back in Ealdor. We'll be here in three days. I can't hurry because I'm not supposed to know about the threat to the Kingdom."

The knights nodded again and then began the gruesome task of slinging the dead bodies over the horses to take them back to the castle. Tristan, alive but unconscious, was strapped back to his horse. Caradoc gave his leg a forlorn look; it was unlikely he would be able to use it fully again. Yvain paused before they began their journey, taking a tentative step in Merlin's direction and then changing his mind and turning the horses toward home instead.

Arthur walked up to Merlin and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Are you sure you can do this?"

Merlin nodded.

"I won't kill him," he said, as if it was a decision that surprised even him.

"What?" Arthur gave him a stunned look. "After what he did..."

"I can control him now. Make sure he never attacks Camelot again."

He looked at Arthur and grasped the hand at his shoulder and held it with firm affection.

"It was my father's dying wish. I promise the dragon will never harm us again. But I won't kill him."

Arthur pulled his hand away, turned his back on his friend and then swung back again.

"If that's your decision, I have to respect it. But after all he's done..."

"I know. But the decision is mine."

Arthur hesitated and then tentatively asked, "How well did you know him, Merlin? You say you found out about him from the archives and he saved us from Sigan. But how often did you speak with him? How much have you really kept from me all these years?"

Merlin looked him in directly in the eyes, blue on blue, and said staunchly, unwaveringly "I found out about him from the archives. I spoke to him that one time and saw his need so I never went back. I don't know how he got free."

Then he waved his hand and, with a flash of golden eyes, Arthur was sent back to Ealdor and Merlin turned to the east and called out in his mind.

_It is time, Kilgharrah. Come to me. It is time._


	56. Chapter 56

**The mistakes we make**

**Part 6**

There is a small mound near a shaded forest path, away from the prying eyes of regular travellers. In the dappled, filtered twilight of a summer's day when the cicadas of the New Forest buzzed and clicked in the heavy hair, a young man with dark, almost black, hair, a tall, angular body and grieving blue eyes, placed three carved figures on the fresh soil and then turned his gaze toward the winding forest path.

He closed his eyes and drew upon his gift. It was stronger now; the pumping flow of magic through his veins deeper and faster than before. The Dragonlord felt his mind expand and connect with the magic all around him; the life in the ground beneath his feet, the scents and texture of the air on the face, the strange sensitive touches of other magical beings on his mind.

He'd been aware of all of this before, of course, but vaguely aware as one strains to hear a whisper in a crowded room or the faint hum of distant music on the night air and then dismisses the sounds as unimportant or a figment of their imagination.

The world sang and laughed and whispered with magic and now he could hear it, feel it, taste it, almost _see_ it as Jacquelyn could see it as a haze of light around a magical being. He felt Kilgharrah as the last dragon finally dwindled to a spot in his mind and then blinked out. Too far away.

And he could feel Morgana, as Kilgharrah must have been able to feel her, hiding somewhere in the forest nearby. He let a tear fall onto his father's grave and then he head off down the path.

There was a cabin here, he remembered, a place he and Morgana went once. They'd had some grand plan of a place to hide to be alone but quick acceptance of their relationship had put paid to the need.

He stopped in view of the small house and let his thoughts spiral out towards it to warn her he was there. Then he drew breath for courage and walked forward.

"Morgana," he said softly as he opened the door and walked across the threshold. The room was dim; so much so that the afternoon light blazing through the door temporarily blinded him and he saw only bright striations of dust floating in the air.

"Morgana?" he queried again. His eyes adjusted to the dim interior and he saw her finally sitting on the edge of an old bed, her eyes staring resolutely through the dirt-caked window and away from him.

He looked at her stiff back and the long, unkempt ebony hair that flowed down all the way to the mattress beneath her. She was wearing nothing but her white shift and his heart twisted at her beauty even as he remembered why he was there.

"Morgana," he whispered and he took a few tentative steps toward her before finding the determination to stride across the room. He wondered if her silent pretence that he wasn't there was guilt or bravado. She was very capable of both.

Or maybe her anger and hatred had finally consumed her as Balinor had warned it could.

He sat down behind her and put his hands on her shoulders then began gathering the hair from her back, braiding it and curling it atop her head. She was always so proud of her hair and it seemed... wrong... to have it so neglected.

His hands drifted back to her shoulders and hovered there for a minute; habit warring with their new situation.

"Morgana, I...," he began and then stopped in shock as he saw what she had been hiding from him.

"Gods, Morgana, you're... what did that dragon do to you?"

She cocked her head then, enough to give him one resolute white-faced look, before turning all the way around so he could see her properly.

"Gods," he breathed as his palm lightly caressed her. She was burnt all down her right side from her forehead to her useless writing hand, the pure white skin mottled black and red as though her skin had melted and puddled.

"I tried to stop him," she said, finally, heartbreakingly, "when I saw... the people dying, their crops burning. I tried to stop him but my magic did no good. This," she gestured to her ruined face, "was... my punishment for... everything."

"I don't understand," Merlin admitted, "you tried to _stop _him...?"

She shook off his touch and turned back to the window.

"Morgana..." he tried again and he reached out to touch her burns and heal them with the same spell that had failed his father.

"Just stop it, Merlin," she burst out and she stood and paced across the dusty wooden floor of the small room. He was stunned to see how upset she was; did not think he had seen her this emotional or this close to tears since his own death so many years before.

"They're dead, Merlin. They're dead because of _me_. He injured Uther but he didn't kill him. And he did it _deliberately _just to torture him, to torture _me._"

"You released him because you thought it was the only way to free Camelot from his rule," Merlin argued, "he manipulated you for years to get you to do this and what he did afterwards is not your fault. You didn't kill farmers and common townsfolk and our friends. Morgana, I never blamed _you_."

"Don't," she sobbed and now the tears did well up into her eyes, "I knew you'd do this. I just knew and I can't... just _don't."_

"Don't?"

"Don't forgive me. Not after what I've done." She gestured once again to the seared flesh. "Don't you see? I deserve this. Scores of people dead or dying because of me. When I came to my senses and realised what I'd done I tried to stop him but..."

"...I lost my temper, Merlin. There was nothing noble or altruistic about my intentions. I heard that you were going to let Uther marry me off to someone else and then that... blonde sorcerer... came and told me that you had deliberately sabotaged Mercia's attempts to give more freedom to sorcerers and I... I lost my temper. I didn't think of right or wrong or the consequences... I just wanted to hurt _you_."

"Well... you did," he admitted, thinking of Lancelot and of his father dead and buried in an anonymous grave off a seldom-trod path, "but only because you were pushed past the boundaries of endurance. I shouldn't have done that to you, Morgana. I took you for granted, I let the dragon whisper away to you for all these years and I put Arthur's needs before you and I... these were my mistakes, not yours."

"_I told you not to do that!"_ she screamed at him and she stormed across the room and slapped him across the face. He jerked back slightly in astonishment and then slapped him again, crying and yelling.

"Don't you dare forgive me. This is my fault. The dragon was right. I'm evil. I don't deserve your forgiveness. I don't deserve you. You're supposed to hate me for this. Hate me, damn you! Hate me!"

She started kicking him as well as punching him then, the tears obscuring her vision and her nervous exhaustion causing the blows to fall ineffectually.

"Hate me," she sobbed, "hate me."

He grabbed her arms in his surprisingly-strong hands and then chanted, "Batian ágíemende háligan forbærnan," and watched as the burns on her face and arms slowly bled away leaving her perfect features behind.

Then they collapsed onto the bed, the strain of guilt and strong magic overcoming them. He wrapped his arms around her and placed her head on his chest so he could stroke her hair.

"If I can forgive him his atrocities, I can forgive you," he whispered, "as far as I'm concerned you're just another victim."

"It's not true," she argued tiredly, "it's just not. One day you'll see. He was right, we're the same. I knew he'd kill innocents in his quest for revenge. I was so angry that I simply... pretended not to see."

"Hatred blinds," said Merlin, "but so does hope. We _both_ hope for a better future, my love. Please don't forget that."

"Don't let your hope blind you to what I am," she counselled.

"I love you, Morgana. That doesn't change because you made a mistake."

"How many times will people die for my mistakes before you stop giving me a second chance?"

"Until you pick up a weapon yourself and kill someone in anger, I will always give you a second chance. Because I know your heart. We will have a new world. It just won't be today."

They lay there for a while as the sun inched its way across the window and finally began to set.

"What will we tell people?" she whispered finally, "Amelia will know I left Ealdor suddenly, although I don't think she'll know how or why. The others must know too."

"You lost your temper and went looking for me. When Arthur and I went after the magical threat you found us. We defeated the beast and Arthur returned to Ealdor, giving you and I some time alone to talk things through. Then we went back to Ealdor and we all journeyed to Camelot together."

"Arthur will know that's a lie."

"Arthur and the Knights believe you lost your temper and went back to Camelot to find the castle already under seige. You then hid here until I found you. They'll back up the other story."

"You lied to Arthur?"

"As soon as I knew what you'd done. Yes."

"But won't he put it together? Our relationship with the dragon...?"

"He doesn't know about that. I told him Kilgharrah helped me defeat Sigan but that I had never spoken to him before or since. If he asks, I'll make sure he believes you were never aware of his existence at all."

"You would do that for me?"

He looked at her and used one finger to caress a line down her unscarred cheek.

"I already did, my love," he whispered, "and I always will."

* * *

**Just to let my readers know also that following an extensive investigation and debate between myself and GuildedDragonfly we have agreed that: **

**if Camelot was not in Wales but actually around where modern London is today; and****this story was set closer to the 900AD mark than 600AD; and ****the mediaeval warming period began slightly earlier than originally suspected; and****because of this warming, the New Forest in the south of England was far more extensive (about 100 miles more extensive)**

_**then**_** the New Forest cicada, currently the only species in England and nearly extinct, would be more widespread and thus... it is perfectly feasible for me to have used cicadas in my story. Hahaaha! So here they are again...**


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N I've updated my profile to note that I have been very unwell. There is, according to my GP, "something wrong with me", a statement of the blinding obvious that will hopefully be explicated soon. I've also been enrolled in a course of intensive study for work that is going to take up a lot of my time so this will be my last update for a while. I will try to get a new chapter of Memento Mori up today as well though but can't guarantee anything. Mnem.**

**

* * *

**

Falling action

"What do you want?" he asked her, his tenderness and consideration infuriating her. He'd never been aggressive or violent but always passionate. Now he was just... permanently, frustratingly gentle as though she could break at any moment.

"I just want us back to normal," she said, a tinge of anger in her voice. _If you must forgive me, then please don't treat me like porcelain._

"Normal? For the witch and warlock in Uther's court? What on Earth is normal?"

* * *

Uther's eyes fluttered open and he looked up at the blurred image of Malcolm sitting by his bedside.

"My liege," the young man said happily, "I'll find Gaius."

He raced off and Uther tried to concentrate; tried to find the scattered fragments of his memory and reconstruct things. _How did I get here? So weak and... where is everybody? What is going on?_

"You're in the keep, Your Majesty."

He refocussed again to find Gaius looking down on him kindly. He was so old, this old man who had served him for so many years. So old. When did he get so old?

"Uther? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Gaius," he managed, "I'm just... what happened?"

"The great dragon escaped. You and Leon were seriously injured. The other knights rode out and Lancelot sacrificed himself to defeat the beast. He's a hero."

"Lancelot... but... my son? Where's Arthur?" Uther tried to sit up and Gaius gently pressed him back onto his cot.

"Arthur is fine. He had not yet returned from Mercia. All is fine, my king. Now rest. All in your kingdom is fine."

* * *

Tristan pushed himself up on his arms and then manoeuvred himself into a chair, trying to ignore the sense of having a second leg at the end of the stump just under his right knee.

"It could be far more unfortunate," he said to Yvain with a grin.

"You mean, it could be your... sword arm?" asked the young Knight with a broad smile. With all Tristan's talk of 'love', he'd finally understood the other man's joke about the worst limb to lose.

"Absolutely, my young friend, it would be much worse to lose my... sword arm."

They were still holed up in the Keep while workers beavered away on the extensive repairs to Camelot and its surrounding villages. The dragon hadn't just destroyed buildings and killed or injured people. It had decimated food crops and devoured farm animals.

It was high summer but there were hushed whispers in the halls that the coming winter would be the harshest and hardest for many years.

Yvain glanced around warily and then dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Won't Merlin be able to do something about it when he comes back? Can't he just..." Yvain waved his hands in the air to signify magic, "... and make your leg... grow back?"

Tristan leaned forward conspiratorially, "No one would notice that," he whispered back sarcastically.

Yvain nodded sadly. "Then what will you do?"

"Leon has offered me a position for life in Camelot."

"Then you're staying?"

Tristan shook his head. "And be another burden on the kingdom when winter comes? Watch my friends and comrades ride out to defend their King while I stay behind with the old men? Never.

"My uncle, King Mark of Eire, has offered me a position in his household. My sister, wary of Uther's purge, already hides there lest her... gift... be discovered.

"Family and friends and my beloved Yseult whom I can now worship in person. Nothing could be more favourable."

"I will miss you," admitted Yvain.

"I won't," said the gravelly voice of Sir Caradoc who appeared beside them. "You're an arrogant son of a bitch who never has a word to say that isn't nonsense."

"And you," countered Tristan.

"Now you keep safe, son. Don't do anything stupid with that young woman your uncle married. One day you'll find out what love really is and it would be better then if you still had your..."

"Sword arm?" finished Yvain.

"Definitely," agreed Caradoc with a laugh.

* * *

Arthur turned the piece of rabbit he had skewered on a stick then looked past Merlin to the tent Morgana had retired to the instant they had made camp. It was still late afternoon; the setting sun sending shards of warm light through the clearing.

They had left Ealdor that morning with Merlin, Morgana and the knight's rather confused servants in tow. They'd told them that the magical threat was vanquished and that Morgana had left the village to look for Merlin and had joined up with them later on.

The prince turned back to his advisor then glanced at the servant Amelia sitting nearby. She kept throwing hopeful glances at Merlin that had not gone unnoticed by several of the party. Arthur was beginning to get angry at her obvious advances, particularly in light of the strain that was evident in Merlin and Morgana's relationship.

"For the sake of the Gods, Merlin," he said in a low, angered tone, "so she was going to do something stupid. She didn't get the chance and has obviously now come to her senses. Why are you still... why are you _here_? Go in there and talk to her or... I don't know... tie her up and play one of your stupid games or something."

Merlin's jaw dropped at Arthur's statement and there was a suspended moment when the prince thought the warlock wasn't going to respond.

"Arthur, can you do me a favour?" he asked, finally.

"What, Merlin?"

"If you and Gwen ever have a... fight or a disagreement or something that affects your relationship, promise me, I mean seriously _promise me_ that you will come to me for advice first _before_ you try to fix things."

"What?"

"Seriously, Arthur. Seriously."

* * *

"Do you see now?" he asked him. "Do you see what I could see? Why he's so dangerous? Why I challenged him?"

"I see even more," he answered. "He is a sorcerer."

He gasped in some shock and then a cold look of resolution settled on his face.

"I should have known. They're bewitched. All of them. Otherwise they'd see the upstart peasant for what he is. The dung he grew up in. The stench of it. He usurps the role of honourable men of gentle birth. Men like me. Outcast because of that dirt-scrubber."

"The Lady Morgana must be brought to see him for who he is. I will leave Camelot and join you and together we will find allies to fight him."

"No. I will find allies. You have too valuable a position. You can be our eyes and ears and you will do far better at influencing her from within Camelot."

Vidor nodded in agreement.

"Very well, Mellum," he said, "very well."

* * *

"Do you think we should make a list?" he asked her with a sly smile.

"A list?" she said as she rolled over and placed her raven-haired head on his milky-white chest. Whatever problems they had in their relationship, they still had this. This had never been the issue.

"A list of who got told which lie. I'm having trouble keeping track."

"And we thought our lives were confusing before," she sighed softly.

"They were, my love," he whispered, "they definitely were."

* * *

She was standing by the window when he walked into the room. The royal family had finally been moved back into their chambers even if so many of the court were still waiting for their rooms to be declared safe.

The last few months had flown by so quickly that he had barely noticed what was happening to them. Barely noticed until that week when it had all become crystal clear.

She was standing by the window when he walked into the room and she didn't raise her head; she just kept staring at the courtyard where a statue in Lancelot's honour was being raised.

"It's ironic, isn't it?" he said finally. He knew he should have gone to Merlin and gotten his advice but his advisor had only just dragged his relationship with Morgana back to normality. He didn't want to worry him with this.

Gwen glanced at him but then turned away.

"All that time and effort. It was obvious that he loved you. It was obvious you... desired him. He didn't want to return to Camelot lest his presence come between us. And you both spent all that time being so _damn_ _noble_. But I can't compete with a martyr, Gwen, or any other dead man. You made your choice and it was me, not him. But nonetheless, here we are and...

"Lancelot has ruined our marriage anyway, hasn't he?"

She turned to him finally, her hands lying firmly by her side instead of in one of her nervous gestures.

"Where were you?" she seethed. "He rode out to defend us but _where was our great prince_? Hiding behind Merlin as he always is."

She stood a few steps toward him and then stopped.

"It should have been you."

"I know," he admitted.

"It should have been you."


	58. Chapter 58

**This has been on my computer for months but I wasn't sure when to use it. Now seems good. Shout out to Terapsina whose review for Chapter 38 gave me the idea.**

**

* * *

**

Merlin saves Arthur

**The Abridged Version Part 1**

"So, I saved you from Mary Collins by slowing down time so I could get to you and push you out of the way."

"_You_ can _slow down time_."

"Well, yes, but that's not important."

"Not important? Merlin, you can _slow down time_. Wait, I remember that. That was the week you arrived in Camelot. You and I fought and, for some reason, I couldn't lay a hand on you. I kept knocking into things and tripping over them."

"Ah yes, about that..."

"You told me you could take me out in less than one blow. You were talking about magic, weren't you?"

"Ah, yes."

"You... cheated."

"What?"

"You cheated!"

"I didn't cheat. You were a trained Knight and I was a servant. If anyone cheated, it was you."

"Alright, you saved me from Mary Collins. What else?"

"Valiant."

"Valiant? _I_ killed Valiant!"

"Because the snakes on his shield suddenly came out while you were fighting?"

"Oh."

"Yep."

"Um... thank you?"

"You're welcome."

"You used to do all your chores using magic, didn't you? That's how you always got so much done."

"Ah, yes. When Gaius didn't catch me. He never liked me doing magic. Seemed to think that just because it was banned I should stop doing it."

"Merlin?"

"Yes Arthur?"

"You really are a complete idiot, aren't you?"

"Pretty much."

"It's nice to know. I mean, that you're still you."

"I am, Arthur. There are some things a person just can't fake."

"Well, I'm glad."

"So, after that there was that plague."

"Wait, you confessed to being a sorcerer during that plague. When Gwen was arrested. After her father was..._mysteriously cured_."

"Um, yes... um, Arthur... about the curing of Gwen's father..."


	59. Chapter 59

**A/N Blatantly "inspired" by the Buffy episode 'Something Blue', this has been sitting on my hard drive for ages. Part 2 might be a little while.**

**

* * *

**

What you wished for

**Part 1**

Guinevere was sick and tired of it all. She was sick of cleaning, sick of being subservient, sick of bowing and scraping and obeying orders and being so nice all the time.

Her two closest friends were powerful sorcerers and the man she loved was a Prince and future King. Merlin and Morgana had their magic and Merlin and Arthur had their friendship and professional positions.

What did she have? Dirty floors and a vague assurance that someday she and Arthur would be together. Possibly. Perhaps. As soon as Uther made a final decision either way. Meanwhile, Merlin and Morgana were off vanquishing the latest magical threat or Merlin and Arthur were forging alliances on some diplomatic mission somewhere.

Even the atrocious Vivian, just departed, had apparently found love. It seemed impossible that in a flick of a one fickle man's fingers her fate could twist from servant to sovereign overnight. It was infuriating.

Gwen hefted the basket of sewing on her hip and felt the twinge in her back from the weight. Sewing. Camelot's best seamstress had decided she hated sewing. Without her father's income, she found it hard to purchase the number of candles she needed to illuminate her work at night and after four years her eyes were suffering.

And damn it, she refused to ask Arthur for money. She would not have people calling her a kept woman. Besides, it didn't fit in with Merlin's interminable _plan_.

"What's the matter, dearie?" said a voice in front of her, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Gwen said, with an automatic smile.

"Are you sure, my dear?" asked the voice. Gwen looked down and saw it came from a tiny old woman in front of her in the street. She had long white hair and was dressed in black.

Unbidden, something wild and primal rose up in Gwen. She hadn't entirely been aware she had it in her. After all, she'd tended to go with the flow with her life; a tactic that, in retrospect, had given her only the misery of the unappreciated and a rather unfortunate love triangle that still gave her a great deal of guilt.

But now, here it was. Before her conscious mind could stop her, she found herself saying, "Actually, I'm not alright. I'm fed up. All I do is work every minute of every day in endless meaningless tasks that simply have to be redone almost the minute they are finished. I'm betrothed to a Prince but, because I have to appear virtuous and unassuming, I toil all day and sleep alone.

"Not that he's ever here to _not sleep_ with because he's always off being a Knight somewhere. He spends more time with Merlin than he does than me. In fact, everyone in my life spends more time with Merlin than with me – including Merlin!

"My friends are the most powerful people in the land and me... I'm nothing. I'm less than nothing. I have no family, no wealth, no connections, no land, no real skills or education. I'm a maid with delusions of grandeur.

"And Uther! Don't even get me started on the King. He has said he will make a decree about our marriage three times now and nothing! All he does is lie and I am left in limbo because of it. I am so tired of being at the whim of everybody. I just wish I could have some control."

Gwen took a deep breath and looked embarrassed at her tirade.

"I'm sorry," she laughed awkwardly, "I don't know where that came from. I really never..."

"It's alright, dearie," said the woman kindly, patting her hand, "better out than in. Now, don't you worry, dearie, I'm sure one day you will have your will done."

Gwen nodded and smiled feeling surprisingly lightened by the incident and went on her way.

Behind her, the old woman stared after her in amusement until she was out of earshot.

"Much sooner than you think, dearie, much sooner than you think."

* * *

Gwen bustled around her small home, the simple furnishings and comfortable familiarity failing to soothe her as it once did. The single stub of candle that illuminated the room made the shadows flicker and dance in ways that could be funny or scary or comforting depending on her mood.

She remembered when she was very little and her mother and the new little brother or sister they had been so happily anticipating had died together. Afterwards, her father had become less than a person: he had neither slept nor eaten and their neighbours had been forced to take her to make sure she was taken care of.

When he'd finally convinced them that he was able to care for her and had taken her back, he'd told her that the shadows that formed strange changing shapes on the wall were the spirits of our loved ones trying to talk to us across the velum that separated worlds. Long after she'd stopped believing this, she had still looked at the dancing shifting forms with affection and had even spoken to them sometimes after her father's death.

"I wish you were here, Dad," she whispered, "you'd know exactly what to say to make me feel better."

She threw her sewing aside and went straight to bed. She would come back to her responsibilities tomorrow. For now, she had had enough.

* * *

Gwen stood behind her mistress in the Court struggling not to laugh at the irony of her position considering the agenda. Uther had once again been forced by his son to declare his intention to make a ruling on her status and, if he decided to allow their marriage, she would no longer be a servant but the Prince's bride-to-be.

She felt again the extraordinary ennui of the day before at the simple certainty that he would once again make some excuse rather than announce decision.

"Liar," she muttered under her breath, "nothing but a liar. I'd love to see you forced to tell the truth."

"And now on to the matter of my son's marriage," said Uther and Gwen refocused her attention on the King, "I know I said I would make a determination on that today but I still live in hope that he'll be persuaded to be reasonable. If I delay long enough, maybe his ridiculous infatuation will wear off and we'll be able to have a proper conversation about the issue."

"Um, sire?" Leon stuttered in shock. The rest of the Court looked equally as bewildered and Morgana had given a little laugh at his statement.

"I mean," continued Uther, looking slightly helpless, "if she were beautiful, maybe that would give us something to work with but she's so _plain_. A penniless orphan with no family, wealth or connections? No, my son will come to his senses. I just have to delay long enough."

"Um, maybe we should finish for today?" asked Leon, looking a little stunned.

"Ah, yes, I think that's wise," agreed Uther, "Court adjourned."

The Knights, nobility and petitioners all filed out of the room and Gwen and Morgana quickly followed them.

"Have you ever heard the like?" asked Morgana as soon as they were alone in the corridor heading to her chambers. "The gall of the man to just come out and say that."

"At least he was being honest," said Gwen sadly, "I found it kind of refreshing."

"Maybe, but still. You and Arthur have loved each other for years. He can delay as long as he wants, that's not going to change."

Gwen gave her mistress a piercing look.

"Do you really think so? I've been feeling a little bit... discouraged... lately. And, what with the work I do, I... Morgana, are you listening to me?"

"What? Oh, um, sorry Gwen. There're reports of some sorcerer terrorising the outlying villages. Not very powerful, just enough to cast some curses and raise the odd magical beast. He's charging people money to _not_ give them deformities. Uther is sending some Knights out to find him and I'm trying to work out how I can sneak out and deal with the issue without him noticing."

"Well, surely someone else can deal with that?" argued Gwen. "The Knights should be fine. It's just that at the moment I really need somebody to talk t..."

"Merlin and Arthur are riding out to investigate some plague that they think might be magical. Maybe I should insist on going with them and then I can break off and head up to..."

"Morgana, please, I'm..."

"Yes, that's exactly what I'll do. Now come on, Gwen, don't dawdle. We have too much work to do."

"Oh yes," Gwen muttered under her breath as Morgana swept off obliviously to her chambers, "a great magical threat to keep you feeling important. Well, I hope you have as many magical threats as you can handle, _My_ _Lady_."

She sighed and felt a wave of guilt for her small spark of malice.

_I'll go and talk to Merlin_, she thought, _Merlin always makes me feel better._

* * *

"Merlin," she protested, as she stood in his chambers trying to get his attention. He was engaged in his usual whirlwind of activity; studying medicine, packing a bag for his trip, trying to formulate a new spell to improve the yield of Camelot's crops.

She stood in the midst of chaos while he whirled about his rooms and ignored the odd wry looks of Malcolm who was trying, unsuccessfully, to follow his master around and make Storm Merlin slightly less destructive.

"Merlin!" she tried again and this time he looked her way and gave a start of surprise.

"Gwen? When did you get here?"

"About five minutes ago," she replied in exasperation, "not that you noticed. I need to talk to you."

"I'm sorry Gwen," he ruefully apologised, "I'm just... Malcolm, do I look like I'm finished with that book? Well, I'm not. And, hey, that's my breakfast!"

Malcolm pointed at the wilted food on the tray and then at the sun directly above the horizon.

"Oh," said Merlin in surprise, "it's nearly midday."

"Yes my Lord, I was going to bring you some lunch, my Lord."

"Probably best," agreed Merlin with a quick grin. "Oh and Malcolm, I'm not a Lord."

"No, my Lord, sorry, my Lord."

"Merlin...?" Gwen tried to interrupt, "I really need you to..."

"I'm sorry, Gwen," he said, turning to face her, "I'm just too busy at the moment. Arthur has me trying to increase the crop yield because we're probably going to have a bad winter and then we have to go off and investigate this plague and if it's magical I'm going to need some kind of counter-spell and then Arthur has fired his manservant... again... and he's insisting that I help him in that department until he finds one that, and I quote, 'has a brain in his head and not just a determination to be obedient'. I'm sorry. Can we talk another time?"

"Merlin," she said, starting to get angry, "does it ever bother you that you spend more time with my fiancé than I do?"

"Well, no, I mean, I am his advisor and his friend. And then there's that whole destiny thing..."

"Does it ever bother you that I never get to see him alone without you there muttering away about this ridiculous _plan? _That I might want to spend some time with him? That sometimes I wonder why I'm marrying him at all when apparently he already has a wife."

"Gwen, did you just call me..."

"Yes," she said, her voice rising a few pitches, "yes, I did. Because that's what you are. I mean, seriously, Merlin, seriously. If you and Arthur are so devoted to each other, then why don't you just go and _marry_ _him instead_."

* * *

It was at that point, Gwen later reflected, that everything went a bit silly.


	60. Chapter 60

**A/N I've had the flu the last week hence my output. It's going to be back to business for me tomorrow, I'm afraid (although I do have one or two ALiM bits hanging around computer) so it'll be quite a few weeks before another update.**

**So, this story is up to Chapter 60. **_**Chapter 60**_**. And yeah, I'm gunning for 100 but nonetheless, if you've read this far but have never reviewed, this is a really really good time.**

**

* * *

**

What you wished for

**Part 2**

"Now, don't you worry, dearie, I'm sure one day you will have your will done... much sooner than you think, dearie, much sooner than you think."

"Liar," she muttered under her breath, "nothing but a liar. I'd love to see you forced to tell the truth."

"Oh yes... a great magical threat to keep you feeling important. Well, I hope you have as many magical threats as you can handle, _My_ _Lady_."

"...If you and Arthur are so devoted to each other, then why don't you just go and _marry_ _him instead_."

* * *

So intent was Guinevere on her miserable put-upon isolation, capped as it was with a fine layer of guilt over her small outbursts, that it took her a while to notice the small absurdities happening around her.

Certainly, several of the Knights and other members of the advisory council were walking around with rather stunned looks on their faces and she had overhead one or two comment on Uther's 'strange mood today'.

And yes, while she was collecting Morgana's laundry from her room she found a tiny green goblin that had simply hissed in her direction and then disappeared.

And it was true that Merlin had, at one point, run down the hallway with a piece of ivory satin and a blue ribbon laughing in some kind of hysterical joy. But then, that was Merlin and therefore not entirely unexpected.

She dropped the clothes at the laundry and organised Morgana's lunch and then returned to the Lady's rooms to clean them. By the time she emerged into the blinding light of the late summer afternoon, she was tired as well as listless and she wandered back to her home to do the sewing she had postponed the evening before.

And perhaps, during that walk, a tall dark-clad man with red eyes had asked for directions to the Lady Morgana's quarters and one of the local flower stall owners had waylaid her to ask if "it was true" and informed her that it was "good news for florists throughout Camelot because everyone knew how much Merlin liked flowers" but she was too fatigued to worry about such strange trifles.

She stepped over the group of axe-wielding dwarfs striding through the streets and through the door of her home; breathing a sigh of relief for one moment before her eye fell upon her unfinished work of the evening before.

She pulled her shawl across her shoulders and settled down into her chair by the empty hearth; managing to get only a couple of stitches done before she put the sewing down with a sigh.

"Oh Dad," she said to the walls, "what am I going to do? You know, the ridiculous thing is that I never cared about marrying him. That was all his idea. I was just happy to be with him, just thought it was a miracle he wanted to be with me at all. I didn't care about being Queen.

"Not being married doesn't matter for Merlin and Morgana, why should it matter to me? But he was so determined to do the _right thing_. As if it matters to a penniless servant.

"Should I just give in, Dad? Go to Uther and tell him he's won. Arthur can marry Jacquelyn. At least she's nice. Although I think Morgana would only be slightly less thrilled if Dealthia moved into the castle.

"I think I might, Dad. I think I might just tell him that..."

Her musings were interrupted by a harried banging on her front door.

"Guinevere! Mistress Guinevere! I demand you open the door in the name of the King."

She put her sewing aside and walked slowly and nervously toward the door; opening it to reveal a harried runner from the castle.

"Mistress Guinevere," he greeted her, "King Uther requests your presence in the Throne Room. He has asked me to... I mean, he has requested that... he's told me I have to escort you."

"Of course," said Gwen, curious despite her annoyance at the summons. She pulled the door shut behind her and joined the messenger in the street. "Do you know why I'm summoned?"

"Ah... no, Mistress, he... didn't say..."

The journey through the streets was relatively swift despite the small delay as a team of guards brought down a giant and tied him to the ground in the square.

"Well, that's not something you see everyday," she remarked, as she and the messenger headed into the castle.

"Ah, Guinevere," Uther greeted her as she walked into the Throne Room. He was not sitting on this Throne but was instead pacing back and forth in front of it. She had noticed this was a habit of his when he was preoccupied with his thoughts.

"Guinevere, I can get nothing of any sense out of my son on this issue and so I've decided to appeal to you. Surely you can see that your marriage to my son is a mistake. A disaster for Camelot."

"My marriage to your son?" asked Gwen despite herself. "There is no marriage without your consent, My Lord."

Uther waved the statement away.

"He insists and I cannot get him to see reason. As for Merlin and his scheming... I swear that..."

Before he could finish his sentence and certainly before Gwen could tell him her recent decision, the door to the Throne Room was flung open and Arthur walked in proudly and stood before his father.

"Father," he declared, "I swear that by tomorrow I will be a married man."

"Seriously, Arthur," retorted Uther as he pointed to Gwen standing demurely near the Throne, "are you seriously telling me you want to spend the rest of your life with... _her?_"

_Seriously,_ thought Gwen_, how rude. Honesty was one thing but she was standing right in front of him. _

"No Father," said Arthur grandly, his chest puffing out to fill out his shirt, "I've changed my mind. I love another and we will be wed as soon as possible."

"Wh...wh...wh...," managed Gwen, his words hitting her like a dash of freezing water.

"But Arthur, this is wonderful news!" stated Uther, "who's the woman? A noblewoman with a family of gentle birth, a fortune and a title to bestow?"

"No, father, my bride-to-be is further from a noblewoman than anyone that ever walked upon this inadequate Earth and yet more noble and more beautiful than any of gentle birth."

"Oh dear," said Uther sadly and sat down on the throne. "Another one. Oh well, can't be worse than the last one."

"Excuse me?" exclaimed Gwen, appalled and still not entirely unconvinced this wasn't some terrible dream, "Arthur, what has gotten into you? What do you mean our engagement is broken? You can't just..." she waved her hands wildly in the air, "who is she?"

"Father, Guinevere," began Arthur breathlessly, "I give you my betrothed... Merlin!"

To Gwen's increasing sense of unreality, Merlin bounded into the room. He was still, thankfully, dressed in his usual clothes but he had a bolt of the ivory satin she'd seen him with earlier that day.

"Gwen!" he yelled gleefully as he saw her, "oh Gwen, you have to make my wedding dress. No other seamstress in Camelot can sew as well as you."

"You wedding dress... what? Merlin, you're a man."

"Well, there's no need to rub it in," he said as he handed her the bolt with a roll of his eyes.

"What is going on here?" said Uther, his voice rising as he stood back up and stormed towards the trio, "what ghastly trick is this?"

"Trick, father?" asked Arthur, rhetorically and somewhat defensively, "there is no trick. Merlin and I... are in love. Deeply, deeply in love. And we're going to be married tomorrow and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Arthur, son, please, see reason..."

"Why are you determined to stop me marrying the person I love? Why are you always trying to ruin my happiness?"

Uther took a deep breath to calm himself, "Of course I'm not trying to ruin your happiness, son, it's very important to me. And if you genuinely wanted to marry... _Merlin_... well, he's certainly a very attractive young man."

Uther pulled himself up short as if he couldn't believe what he'd just said. Thankfully, Arthur was having none of it.

"No," he said, "you never wanted me to be happy. You just want me to marry some fertile, noble, brood sow who can make hundreds of Pendragon babies and bring her Daddy's army if Mercia attacks. Well, I won't let you ruin my happiness this time."

He turned to direct a withering glance at Gwen.

"And I happen to think he'll look lovely in ivory. It's a perfect colour for his perfect complexion. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's near nightfall and it's bad luck for a man to see his wife the night before the wedding."

And he swept out of the room leaving Uther back on his throne with his head in his hands and Merlin glaring at them both.

"Merlin," began Gwen, trying to sound reasonable, "something's obviously gone a bit wrong here. Surely you can see that. What about Morgana?"

"Morgana?" he queried her, obviously confused.

"Merlin," said Uther tiredly, "you and my son are obviously under some sort of a spell..."

"That's just typical of you, isn't it?" said Merlin in a way that was uncharacteristically belligerent and very generally un-Merlin, "seeing sorcery everywhere. Blaming everything on magic and seeing magic in everything.

"Arthur and I are _in love _and we're going to have a perfect wedding day and a perfect honeymoon."

"Honeymoon?" exclaimed Uther, "Merlin... you and Arthur..."

"No," replied Merlin in an annoyed voice, "he's insisting on _waiting_ so it'll be _perfect."_

Both Gwen and Uther breathed a sigh of relief as Merlin continued.

"Don't you dare ruin my perfect day, either of you or I will be very angry. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

He turned toward the door, obviously planning to leave, when they swung open once again to reveal Morgana.

"Oh Merlin," she cried, throwing herself into his arms and then instantly pulling back as she realised Uther was there as well. She angled her head so she could address all of them.

"Witches," she announced earnestly.

"What?" replied Uther, jerking his head away from his hands.

"Witches, warlocks, demons, goblins, dwarves... anything and everything you can imagine. They're all here. They just keep coming and coming. I managed to fend the first few off but..."

There was an ominous thumping sound at the door followed by a series of heavy wooden thuds and then the rhythmic thumping continued again.

"They're here," Morgana said.

"Who's here?" asked Uther, confused.

"Merlin, please," Morgana pleaded, despite herself, "one of my favourite gems starting trying to convince me to murder everyone and my bed came alive and tried to eat me. You have to do something."

"Maybe this has something to do with the spell Merlin and Arthur are under?" asked Gwen, reflectively.

"What spell?" asked Merlin.

"Oh come on, Merlin," Gwen beseeched him, "you just announced that you're _marrying Arthur_. Can't you see you're enchanted?"

"That's it," he said, "I'm finding myself a new seamstress." And he stepped forward and grabbed the bolt back off her.

"You're... marrying Arthur?" asked Morgana, taking a step back.

"I suppose I shouldn't approve but at least he has a good education and he's certainly better looking than the alternative," announced Uther, despite himself.

Morgana and Gwen swapped an appalled look and Merlin had a flash of normal Merlin anger at the insult.

"I happen to think you're _beautiful_," he said to Gwen, with a deliberate look at the King while he said it. Then, seeming to remember that he was angry at her, "but you're still off the guest list."

The door splintered behind them and through it came a wraith-like skeletal form. The stones beneath its feet cracked and splintered as it slid over them towards Morgana.

"Wiiiitttchhhh," it sighed through its faceless lips as it glided closer.

They stepped back in shock as its head flew off its shoulders and it shuddered and collapsed in a pile of bones on the floor.

"Liches," said a contemptuous voice and a female warrior stepped over the remains, sword still drawn, "never could stand them. Still, his soul is elsewhere, he will rise again."

She looked around at the group then sheathed her sword.

"Andraste," she introduced herself with a curt nod, "I haven't been around these parts since Boudica summoned me. Why have you called upon me? If it was to dispatch this liche, I think it's an inadequate use of a Gods' talents. I would be very angry about that."

Morgana looked reflective for a brief moment and then turned to face the Celtic God.

"I summoned you," she declared, improvising wildly, "and for good reason. That reason is beyond that shattered door. All the evil in the world descends upon us and we need you to fight beside the...," and she looked desperately around then stood shoulder to shoulder with Gwen, "..the great women warriors of Camelot!'

Gwen just nodded, hoping that on this occasion as well a pleasant expression would get her through.

"Very well. Arm yourselves and we will face this horde together."

There was a point - as Morgana launched herself against the dark hordes with Andraste beside her and Merlin was still studiously eyeing his wedding dress fabric, and Uther ran from the room to organise the Knights to join the fight but kept accidentally telling them what he thought about their skills and Arthur re-entered the room to investigate the commotion and ran to cuddle Merlin instead of joining in the battle - that time seemed to slow down.

Gwen felt as though she was standing apart from the commotion, an observer only in the madness that had descended upon the Court.

"That's how you always feel isn't it, dearie?" she heard behind her and she whirled around to find the old woman from the street standing there, "as though life is something that happens to other people while you watch?"

"You...," she breathed in sudden realisation, "it was you. You did this."

The old woman shook her head and grinned an ugly toothless grin.

"Not me, dearie. This was you. All you. You wanted power, no? Isn't that what you cried out for? Here it is, dearie. Power. All you wanted."

Gwen turned to look at the chaos before her.

"But this isn't power. This is... I don't know what it is. But it..."

"Of course it's power, dearie, You ask, the world obeys. Wasn't that your wish? Your friends, all powerful, but you, nothing. Now they dance to your tune, dearie, just as you asked."

"No," Gwen protested lamely, then she rallied and turned on the woman. "No! I never wanted this."

"Isn't that why you really want to be Queen? You could have Arthur either way. Why be his wife? I know why. I was a woman before women existed. Love is service. Marriage is power. Well, here it is, dearie. All the power you could want in the world."

"Who are you?" Gwen asked desperately, "why are you doing this?"

"I am Cailleach, mother of all. And mother knows best, dearie. Your mother would have told you if she'd lived. But she wasn't there, was she? Up to me, dearie. Up to me."

"I don't... I don't _understand_. Stop this."

"Not mine to stop, dearie."

"You mean... you mean... I had the power to cause this so I can order it to stop? You mean, I have the power so I should use it instead of relying on others to protect me all the time?"

She turned around to face the chaos, closed her scared brown eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them with conviction.

"Morgana will no longer be attacked," she announced in a clear voice.

Morgana dodged a fireball from a warlock then had another knock her sword out of her hand. She pulled out a dagger and threw herself back into the fray.

"The magical threats will disappear!" said Gwen, "Arthur and Merlin will no longer want to be married. Uther will no longer be forced to speak the truth."

Two dwarves ran in and threw pickaxes at Merlin. Arthur deflected them with a nearby shield and then hid the two of them under a table where they began to hug each other madly.

"Stop!" Gwen yelled, finally, "just stop! Why won't you stop?"

She swung around to Cailleach again.

"Why won't it stop?"

"When Uther had your father killed could he have changed his mind and undone it, dearie?. When Canute ordered back the tide, did it obey?"

"What? What? I don't... I..."

A bat flew into the throne room and transformed into a vampire, descending on Morgana from behind.

"Morgana!" she yelled, "behind you!"

Cailleach gave her an amused look.

"Power has consequences," yelled Gwen, "that it, isn't it? Power has consequences!"

She took a few angry steps toward the old woman.

"That was it? Power has consequences? All this," she gestured to the bloodbath in the Throne Room, "for 'power has consequences'. You are kidding me. People could _die_ so you can teach me today's statement of the blinding obvious. Every creature from hell is descending upon us so you can teach me the _great revelation_, 'power has consequences'.

"Fine then. Ok. I renounce this power. If these are the _consequences_ then I don't want it or need it. Just as I don't want or need to be Queen.

"But you know what? I will marry Arthur and not because I want to be Queen or because I want power but because sharing your life together is what marriage is all about and if I didn't marry him I'd have to watch him share it with somebody else. And that is _unacceptable_."

Cailleach grinned and reach out one hand to touch Gwen's cheek lightly.

"Well done, daughter, you've done well. Your mother would be proud. You will make a great Queen. My blessing to you."

And as she faded away, the demons disappeared with her and Morgana was left hacking at thin air.

Gwen turned and ran to her mistress and hugged her in relief.

"Gwen, what happened?" asked Morgana.

"I'm not sure," she replied, genuinely, "I'm really not sure. I think some God just taught me a lesson... or something. If so, I'm not even sure what it was."

"But, did any of that really happen or...?"

"If we remember it, I'm sure it must have," said Gwen.

"But if that's the case, Gwen, then..."

"_Gods no!" _the two women heard from the other side of the room.

Two heads popped up as Arthur and Merlin came up from under the table. The men looked at each other, quickly looked away, folded their arms in identical postures of manliness, accidentally caught each other's eyes again and then stared straight ahead.

Arthur glared at Gwen and Morgana.

"If either of you _ever speak of this again_..."

They both frantically shook their heads, no.

"Right then. Merlin, I think we have an expedition to pack for."

"Yes, Sire, of course."

"Oh, and Merlin... separate tents, I think. Yes, definitely separate tents."

* * *

Gwen took Arthur's hand and a quick intake of breath at the same time.

"Are you ready?" he asked her tenderly.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak because of nervousness.

"Well then, here goes."

They pushed open the door to the Throne Room and walked in to where Uther sat reviewing some papers from one of that day's petitioners.

"Father," Arthur said staunchly, drawing the King's attention.

"Yes, Arthur," Uther acknowledged him expressionlessly.

"Father, Gwen and I are in love. We have been for a long time now. This is not a childish infatuation or a youthful rebellion or a decision made in haste. And Camelot is becoming powerful enough that her position is immaterial.

"I want to marry Gwen but I will not do it without your permission. This is your Kingdom and if I flout your law than I say that the law of Camelot has no meaning. I won't do that. But nor will I marry if I can't marry a woman I love. This is the woman I love.

"Will you grant me permission to marry her?"

Uther stared at them for a moment and then put down the papers in his hand.

"I don't approve of your decision, Arthur, you know that. I think a more strategic marriage, someone like Princess Jacquelyn for example, would be extremely beneficial to Camelot in the long term.

"But, you have demonstrated – recent events notwithstanding – that you are resolute. I will no longer stand in your way. You have my permission."

"Thank you, Sire," said Gwen, quite genuinely. "Thank you."

And as she and Arthur left the room, she could have sworn she saw a little old lady grinning her toothless grin in the corner. But when she looked again, she was gone.


	61. Chapter 61

**A/N Thanks to nInA vApIrA for the reviews. And yes, Arthur and Merlin's marriage was totally making fun of slash (but not as much as Spell does...) and Uther nearly did approve. But then, he wasn't quite in his right mind at the time!**

**

* * *

**

The Innocents of Camelot Part 3

My name is Mary and I am nearly seven. Only four sleeps until I'm seven my Mother says. When I'm seven, Mother says we can go to the forest. That will be my special birthday treat. I'm not allowed to go to the forest usually. Mother is worried that someone will see.

My father used to say that I was very special; his very special little girl. He could do what I can do and we would go to the forest together. One day the men who work for the King saw him there. They took my Father away.

The awful thing is that we can't stay away. The forest calls to us; it needs us. It speaks to us. At night I hear the whispers of the trees and the grass and all the living things. The wood in the houses speak to me too but it's quiet and sad. The forest sings.

My mother once said to my father that he and I could speak to animals. That's not true. Not exactly. Animals don't speak like we do. But they don't _not _speak either. I can't explain it. My father could have because he was older but I don't have the words. Not yet.

I can tell you that the small birds care for their nests and eggs and food. The larger birds, like the crow, they're like us. They have families and leaders and those that are a little bit different and don't fit in.

The wolves stand apart until their pack nears and then their thoughts become like a single voice in a chorus. Different but all singing the same song.

My father told me that once. I thought it was beautiful.

Small birds and rabbits and other creatures like that, all you can do is listen to them because they're not very smart. The larger birds, dogs, horses and the magical creatures, you can ask them to do something for you and they can understand. A horse can choose to carry you, or a dog to fetch something for you, or a crow to look for something for you.

That's how people with our skills were used in the old days.

Now, I must be careful that the King's men aren't there when the animal comes back; that they don't see that we're friends. That's what my mother tells me always. To be careful. My father wasn't careful.

When they took him away, my father told me that one day I would see him again. I asked my mother once when that would be; when would my father come back? She just cried and I knew that I would never run through the forest with him again.

When I'm seven, my mother told me, she would let me go to the forest. But I hear her making other plans, late at night. When we go to the forest next time, maybe we won't come back. I heard her say we could go with the others who are moving north.

Other people like me have gone there. I will have friends there; people I've known who've disappeared to escape from the King's men.

And maybe one day I'll grow up and punish the King for what he did to my father. Maybe one day, all of us who ran will come back.

When I'm old enough.

On that day, I'll make the King pay for taking my father away.


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N Yes, to answer nInA vApIrA's question, the reference to 'heading north' in the previous chapter was about Merlin and Arthur's underground to the Northern Kingdoms.**

**This officially wraps up the stuff I had lying around my computer but I have my major exam tomorrow and I'm hoping to take a day or two off after that and may do some writing then.**

**

* * *

**

Merlin saves Arthur

**The Abridged Version Part 2**

"So, I cast a spell to cause the wind that blew your fire onto the afanc."

"And how did I not notice this?"

"Since I was chanting one metre away and then a strange wind blew in, I have no idea."

"Alright, let's skip forward from the afanc," said Arthur definitely, "it's obvious that I should have been slightly more observant but I was hardly going to think that you were a _sorcerer_."

"Arthur, I ran into a room and said 'I am a sorcerer'."

"Granted, but I thought you had a thing for Gwen. Hang on, did you have a thing for Gwen?"

"No, I can honestly say that _I_ did not have a thing for _Gwen_."

Arthur placed his hand on his sword hilt.

"Are you suggesting that _Gwen_...?"

Merlin put up his hand in mock surrender.

"I'm not suggesting anything. As far as I'm concerned, Gwen and I were always friends. Just friends. And if she, at some stage, said I was a real hero and called you a _bully.._."

"Gwen would never have called me a bully."

"Really?"

"Well, alright, so she once did call me a bully to my face but... you can remove that smirk off yours, Merlin."

"No smirk, absolutely not. No sire, no smirk on me."

"Good. Now. What was next?"

"Bayard's poison."

"Of course. Bayard's poison. Except it wasn't Bayard, it was that woman."

"Nimueh."

"And who is Nimueh?"

"A sorcerer. The one who put the afanc in the water supply, tried to poison you, and... umm, let's not get ahead of ourselves..."

"Hang on," said Arthur, suddenly, "she tried to kill me in that cave with the flower thing. She said that weird stuff about me not dying by her hand but then she tried to leave me to die. And then, then there was this light... Merlin, that was you, wasn't it? You were the light."

Merlin gave him an inscrutable glance.

"Merlin?" inquired Arthur threateningly.

"Yes, that was me, although I don't remember doing it. I was unconscious at the time but Gaius said I created a glowing ball of light in my hand."

Arthur gave a resigned smile and then shot Merlin an inscrutable glance.

"I think I forget sometimes."

"Forget what?"

"How many times you've nearly died for us. For me. For Gwen. For Morgana. We don't nearly thank you enough, do we?"

Merlin returned his inscrutable glance with a guilty grin.

"What's that look for?"

"Nothing... I mean, I just remembered something."

"Remembered what, Merlin?"

"Well, it's just that I nearly died."

"Yes, we've established that bit."

"And then I wasn't dead and I guess Gwen was just so _relieved_..."

"Merlin..." said Arthur threateningly, "what are you trying to say?"

"Oh nothing. It's just that... that was when Gwen kissed me."

"What!"

"She kissed me."

"Whatever, Merlin," said Arthur with a disbelieving roll of the eyes, "and anyway, I hardly think that some friendly peck on the cheek..."

"It was on the lips."

"Merlin, are you _trying_ to get yourself killed..."


	63. Chapter 63

**A/N NInA vApIrA: it's not that bad having an exam set at the moment – it's winter here!**

**So, I lied when I said I had used up everything on my computer. This was originally in chapter 53 but got ditched when it got rewritten. Here it is again.**

**

* * *

**

Parents

Merlin and Arthur warmed themselves by the crackling fire, enjoying the quiet calm of victory. The Lady Maud lay asleep in her blankets; two ladies-in-waiting sitting nervously by her side. After their treatment at Hengist's hands, they were obviously nervous about what reward the two men were going to demand for their rescue.

As they slowly realised they were safe, they too lay down and drifted off to the quiet popping of the slightly-wet wood.

"I can't believe widow theft still happens in this day and age and _in Camelot_," said Arthur finally. He gave the very young Lady Maude a sad look and then threw some leaves on the fire.

"We rescued her, Arthur," Merlin tried to comfort him.

"Too late for her maids," noted Arthur, "did you see how scared they were of us?"

Merlin looked at him perceptively.

"It's more than that. What's wrong?"

Arthur looked over at the sleeping woman again, one coil of corn-blonde hair peeking through the blankets. An unusual expression of heartbreak slid down his face from his eyes; the blue orbs glistening slightly in the moonlight.

"She looks like my mother."

Merlin paused for a moment, not certain how to respond to Arthur's unusual openness.

"You don't talk about your mother much," he noted, finally.

"That could be her, you know. My mother. Dragged off her estates by some Knight who wants to force her into marriage just to get her property."

He looked at Merlin angrily, "That could be Morgana if it wasn't for my father's protection. Her estate goes to her husband. If she didn't have us to protect her..."

Arthur looked back toward the fire and then a moment later managed to add, "She died in childbirth. My mother. There's a portrait of her in the Great Hall but my father... my father barely speaks of her at all. When I was little, I... I thought... I always believed...," he threw a few stems of grass on the fire and stood up abruptly, "it doesn't matter. I'll take first watch. You get some sleep."

Merlin gave the Prince a pensive look then simply nodded.

Arthur moved off toward the camp's perimeter then paused and turned back around. He opened his mouth several times before finally admitting, "I thought he hated me for killing her."

"Your father doesn't hate you," Merlin said instantly, definitely, "that much is clear. He loves you more than anything."

Arthur sat back down and stared back at the flames.

"She just looks so much like my mother," continued Arthur as if Merlin hadn't spoken, "I just wish he'd talk about her, just so I'd know... so I could tell..."

"I know," agreed Merlin, a lump forming in his throat despite myself. "It's the same with me and my father. I don't know... anything. My mother doesn't talk about him. I don't even know his name."

"Can't you talk to her about it?"

Merlin just shook his head then paused and gave a rueful twist of his lips. "Gaius must know. Or at least he must know something. I know he and my mother corresponded for years. Whenever I ask him, he avoids the question."

Arthur's lips twisted in sympathy, "I asked him about my mother once as well. He said it was not his story to tell."

Merlin gave a wry smile, "That sounds like Gaius. One day my mother will tell me. I'm sure of it. She just... she just needs it to be the right time, I think."

"For your sake, I hope that day comes soon," said Arthur, "then you can tell me that you at least know your father by your mother's memory of him. I know I'm unlikely to get the same insight from my father."

"I will, Arthur," promised Merlin, "as soon as I find out who my father was, I will tell you everything about him."


	64. Chapter 64

**A/N Ok, so I really really lied about having used up everything on my computer… not sure how I feel about this one. Maybe it's just too different to how I usually write. Brain too full of discriminant analysis, I guess.**

**Ground – I'd love to have a chat about that. If you have an account, send me a PM.**

**As for deja vu, yes I already know. **

**Thanks nina vapira for pointing out the use of the antonym of what I wanted! All fixed now.**

**

* * *

**

Dreams

The plague wasn't the first time. That much at least she's sure about. She has no clear recollection of when they began. Just knows that they've been there for a while.

Her dreams - her nightmares - were always there of course. She dreamt about death and destruction and pain in brilliant, vibrant, vivid multi-colour.

Blood: thick, rust-red, and bittersweet. Anger and rage flowing in waves like a violent sea pounding a vulnerable shore. The black and neverending night of death for almost everyone she'd ever met. Except Uther. Never Uther's death. Never ever such comfort or respite.

In her dreams, magical beasts rose up and struck down her closest friends, sorcerers lay horrific curses on those she most cared about, unstoppable plagues swept through Camelot, Arthur lay dead upon a battlefield only a slightly-older man, Merlin looked at her with hurt and pain and condemnation, Gwen ran from Camelot with Lancelot in shame and self-loathing, Lancelot lay in a field a charred and smoking ruin, Mordred knelt before Arthur with a sword tapping him gently on each shoulder, and Mordred stood beside her with a horrified, disbelieving expression on his angelic face and hands coated with blood.

A seer's gift of true dreams in a world where such a thing could get her killed.

No wonder she always woke up screaming.

Or at least she used to.

As her powers grew and refined, the dreams bleached out and receded like the bones of a once-violent creature left lying in the summer's sun. She was left with the same disjointed recycled images the rest of the world used to make sense of their lives.

At first she almost missed them; thought a piece of her had been excised and thrown away as one chops off a damaged limb. Then she adapted and began to question even her most vivid dreams.

Did she dream Mordred smiling in a forest glen surrounded by friendship because it was or because it was what she wanted to be? She did not recognise his friends. Did this mean her dream was true?

And the woman. Strangely compelling. Blonde. Wild hair and flashing yellow eyes.

Like Mordred, she felt she knew her. A strange dissonant recognition like the frisson of knowledge the French call déjà vu. Memory without activity.

Sometimes the woman was in a blooming apple orchard where decay did not seem to exist. Sometimes she was on the island of grassy ruins where Merlin had obliterated Nimueh and her arrogant spite. Sometimes in the decaying stone of a castle where an altar stood dedicated to the old ones who long ago left us behind.

At first the dreams were a flash, like a picture. She would be seeing the random jumbled images of an ordinary dream and then the woman would be there and then gone again. Recognition then nothing. Then they grew slowly as though the strange woman had turned around one day and seen her looking. They expanded as though she was curious as well.

The plague came, that terrible plague that her dreams had foretold, that her magic had already cured, and she had dreamed again. The magic; beautiful and wild. Flowing through her but not of her.

Now they coursed through her blood with more frequency. The dreams. The blonde woman. Magic as it should always have been; unfettered and free. This is how it should be, she screamed into the world of her mind.

But they faded with the dawning day; the dreams and the strange exhilaration. Washed out. Not true dreams. True dreams never felt like that.

She never told Merlin, of course. After all, there was nothing to really tell.


	65. Chapter 65

**A/N So, I'm back, hopefully for a while. And I've seen the first two episodes of Season 3 as well. After viewing them I'm thinking of lobbying for the show to be renamed "The Adventures of Merlin: the dumbest and most incompetent sorcerer who ever lived". Season 2 was bad enough. If Season 3 doesn't get better soon, I might have to start writing original works of fiction. Can't have that!**

* * *

**My name is Gaius**

My name is Gaius. Court physician, freeman. I am the oldest and truest citizen of Camelot. I am the order and stability at the heart of the Kingdom. I was born and lived and will die alone.

Others believe in order, in power, in magic, in chaos. I believe in science. I believe the world is calculable, understandable, reducible, material and generalisable. I believe the lessons I learn about one thing can be applied to another. Even magic is quantifiable in the end. Even magic has laws, as all things in nature have laws. Laws that can be learned, applied, mastered and ultimately eschewed. Even magic obeys the rules in the end.

Understanding of the world is my gift and my burden. Understanding is the double-edged sword that leads to inertia. When I was a child - so long ago that there is no one left to remember when my hair was not grey, my fingers not arthritic, my eyes clear, my face unlined – my parents used to say that I had an old soul.

An old soul: one that looks out on the world as though he's already lived one life and is for some reason back again. One who watches and learns through books and observations. One who never makes mistakes because he learns so quickly from the mistakes of those around him. One who cannot understand how others can be so stupid to jump when the self-evident truth is that they will one day come down.

My sister was the one who made mistakes; the one who jumped. My poor dear sister, who could not learn from anything but her own tragic missteps. The fights we would have when we were young! I would tell her that the outcomes of her actions were well-known if she only had the imagination to think it through. She would say that I never lived life but only lived my books.

I never made mistakes. I never did anything at all. I stayed friends with all, supported all, I did not stop the purge, nor did I support it. I serve Uther because he is the King and because unconstrained magic is as illogical as unconstrained power of any kind. I never married, never had children, never suffered the agonies of love. The result of that, from all I had observed, was obvious too. Logic is my guide.

And yet…

The boy bounds out of bed, falls down the stairs, swallows the morsel of bread I can spare him and stumbles out the door. He is well now, my sister's grandson, the injuries that nearly killed him healing. The girl who could be my sister reborn had a hand in this, I'm sure. Such bold action could only have come from her hand.

I look at him as he stumbles out the door and into the day; think of my sister and her stubborn pursuit of action over thought. And I know that, without that, he would never be. This boy - young man - who fills my last few years with laugher and magic. Can my sister's rebellious spirit be so wrong when it has given the world, given me, this? I cannot believe so now. But I will not wallow in regret for what might have been. That, after all, is illogical too.

My name is Gaius. I have always been alone. Until now.


	66. Chapter 66

**A/N To nInA vApIrA: yep, you're right and it's completely deliberate. In my stories they're all pagans.**

**

* * *

**

Merlin saves Arthur

**The Abridged Version Part 3**

"So, I cast the spell onto Lancelot's... lance... that made it able to kill the Griffin."

"What?"

"Well, the Griffin is a magical being and it couldn't be killed without a spell, so..."

"I knew it!"

"Knew what?"

"I knew that Mr Perfect wasn't _that_ perfect."

"Ah... what?"

"Mr 'I killed the griffin without mussing up my perfect hair'."

"If...you say so..."

"And I guess it's not just me that doesn't notice these things. You enchanted his lance without him even noticing."

"Oh no, he noticed. He definitely noticed. Lancelot's known about my magic for years."

"Oh, you are kidding me."

"Nope. Mr Perfect is very observant. Also, handsome, noble, loyal, self-effacing..."

"Very funny, Merlin... wait... you forged his papers of nobility, didn't you. With magic."

"Yep."

"Honestly, how you've survived this long..."

"You sound like Gaius."

"So, what next?"

"Want to move on from Mr Perfect Knight?"

"Desperately."

"Well, then there was the whole Edwin incident."

"I thought that was Gaius."

"No, well, I..."

"Spit it out, Merlin."

"You can't ever tell your father."

"Merlin, what you've already told me could get you killed five times over should my father ever be able to catch you, which he wouldn't. Now tell me."

"I killed Edwin and saved your father's life with magic."

"You what?" breathed Arthur in astonishment, "But, if you'd just let him die then..."

"I know."

"Why?"

"Because you needed him. And because it was the right thing to do."

"Thank you, Merlin," said Arthur, earnestly. "I know he may not seem worthy of it sometimes but..."

"...he's your father," finished Merlin.

"Yes, Merlin. No matter what. He's my father."

There was a short silence that neither of them seemed inclined to break before Merlin gave a quick tight grin.

"So... Sophia."

"That noblewoman I stupidly tried to elope with? What about her?" asked Arthur, somewhat hesitantly.

Merlin just grinned.


	67. Chapter 67

**A/N According to Wikipedia, Mordred was 11 in the first season of Merlin. That would make him about 15/16 during ALaaU.**

* * *

**Plea**

In a shaded glen by a clear stream stood a blonde and beautiful woman. It was not just her features that were beautiful, of course: it was her bearing, her manner. She demanded worship and respect just by standing. It was a manner she had developed unconsciously. Years of training with the sisters of Avalon.

In her hand she had a note full of the hurried scrawling scratches of youth.

She heard the boy's voice in her mind as she read.

_

* * *

_

They say that time speeds up as you get older. That when you're young, the promise of a summer's day can stretch out in front of you as though it were a week and that it has as much possibility as a life lived.

_You can become anything, do anything, and it seems as though you have all the time in existence to make all these things happen. The world is a promise to you. The world is easy._

_Then you start getting older and time begins to speed up. Days that seemed like acres of a wild and beautiful field that you could run on for miles became like a flowerbed you had to step over to get to somewhere else. Months became like weeks and years... years flowed like water through your fingers as you tried desperately to get enough to drink._

_All the things you want to be, want to achieve, want to _have already done_, start to take shape. The complexity, the difficulty of the task – the things your young mind never had the ability to perceive – begin to harden around you._

_The Druids used to tell me that how you deal with the change from the idealism of youth to the certainty of adulthood was what made a man. They said that the tumultuousness of that transition could lead my magic to explode in wild and unpredictable ways. They told me that it had been a long time since someone with my power came to puberty. They said that I should take the example of Emrys. Emrys had somehow managed it on his own. But I would not have to. They would be there for me._

_And then they died. Were murdered. Slaughtered where they stood._

_Not all of them, of course. Just the ones with knowledge, the ones who knew the old ways to pass down to a young and powerful wizard. There are others: small bands of dislocated and disaffected peasants scraping out a living in the forest and hiding from Uther's directionless wrath. But they have no gifts. They have no knowledge. They have no country. They have no old people to hand down their ways anymore. They are the nothing people._

_They have nothing to lose._

_They took care of me for a while and I _was_ grateful. But for a thirteen year old boy wizard there is nothing more terrifying than when the speed of time changes. And for the powerless, there is nothing more terrifying than power. _

_They feared me and as the time marched on toward my puberty, that fear grew and seemed to gain form, become palpable. Fear drenched the forest where we lived, it drenched our small wretched dwellings, it drenched our homes and our lives. They feared me and I feared what they would do to stop their fear._

_But I truly never expected them to try to kill me. Please understand that it was them or me and no one had been there to teach me to control my powers. They turned on me. They betrayed me. There were 20 of them and only one of me. I had to._

_And so I send this letter in some desperation. Please, Emrys. I do not want to become this person. I do not want to do these things. '_

_Have you heard the prophecies about yourself? Has someone ever told you? There is more than one, Emrys. More than one. I know which one I choose. I am fourteen now and I am alone on a forest floor surrounded by death. And I can feel the magic, and my manhood, stir inside me. _

_Time marches, Emrys. Even your magic can only slow it for a second._

_I know that you live in Uther's kingdom and that you have decided to take no direct action against him. I don't agree with you on this. He is a monster. He is the one who has done this to me. He should be punished for his crimes. But if you ask me not to act against him then I will swear not to._

_I do not wish to be this murderer the prophecies speak of, Emrys. I do not wish to cause this much death again. It was only to protect myself and I know that I am not in the wrong. We all have the right to protect ourselves. Through any means. _

_But with your help I may not need to protect myself again. I can become a man and a great warlock without this pain. _

_I ask for your help, Emrys. Please._

_Help me._

* * *

The messenger lay dead on the ground in front of her; his body lying prone and wide-eyed in the grass. Dead from no discernible wounds.

She stepped over him and placed the note carefully on the small fire he had built for cooking. Then she stood and watched it burn.

"I'm sorry, my son," she said softly, "but that's not part of my plan."

Then she muttered a few unknowable words and disappeared in a maelstrom of light.

And the fire burned on with the ash of the plea inside it.


	68. Chapter 68

**A/N Still no words to describe how bad season 3 is. **

**This chapter was in the notebook I lost with my plan in it. Trying to rewrite chapters is really hard but it was very necessary so here it is.**

**

* * *

**

Pragmatism

Merlin walked steadily down the corridor; the confident calm of his exterior belying the racing mind beneath it. This was not going to be an easy conversation, he knew, but as Arthur's advisor it was one they had to have.

He walked into Arthur's chambers without knocking; a habit he was even less likely to break now his status in the kingdom was so elevated. One day he would be Chief Advisor to the King of Camelot and people knew it. He went where he wished without censure.

"For God's sake, Merlin, can't you learn to knock?" asked Arthur from his writing desk.

"No," the warlock replied simply and closed the door carefully behind him.

Arthur just gave him a wry grin then held up the paper he'd been working on when Merlin came through the door.

"I need to talk to you about the safe houses and transport for the people we're smuggling out of Camelot."

"I've made an overture to Dealthia," Merlin reported, "and she has agreed to begin setting up infrastructure on her end. She's also talking to people in some other kingdoms that she trusts."

"That just leaves things on our end, Merlin. Are you still convinced that you and I should not be directly involved?"

Merlin nodded. "We need to make sure that if any part of the network is exposed it can't be traced back to you. My spies have identified a number of families under suspicion for witchcraft whose powers seem to be essentially harmless. We just need the network up and running."

"Then we need someone we trust to run it."

"I have an idea about that, actually, although you're probably not going to like it."

"Not Leon?"

Merlin shook his head. "Leon is too loyal and too honest. He simply wouldn't be capable of lying to Uther every single day. But that's not what I came to talk to you about."

Arthur gave him an appraising look then put the papers down.

"What's with you now, Merlin? If I didn't know better I'd say you were nervous."

Merlin took a deep breath then looked his prince directly in the eyes.

"Arthur, I need you to reconsider marrying Jaquelyn."

"Excuse me!"

Arthur stood up and crossed his arms.

"Please, Arthur, hear me out. I know you love Gwen and I know you want to be with her...

"We're engaged, Merlin, and my father has finally recognised that engagement. This is part of _your plan_ and I have waited nearly three years for Gwen and I to be together."

"I know, Arthur, but..."

"But nothing, Merlin."

"Arthur, I am your advisor and you will at least listen to me."

He took one deep breath and continued.

"Camelot's only real allies, like Olaf, are as stridently anti-magic as Uther. We have Cenred's kingdom separating us from Mercia and my spies tell me Bayard is vacillating on the issue of magic because of his wife's family. If he moves toward greater freedom for magic users too soon it could lead to war and I don't think another war with Camelot will be easily forgotten or forgiven by the Mercians, regardless of who ends up on the throne.

"The northern kingdoms have so far stayed uninvolved because they didn't feel threatened and because they feel no sense of affinity with other adherents of the Old Religion. But when they look south now they're starting to see a king who's determined to unite all of Albion and impose his own will on _every_ kingdom. From their perspective, you've spent your whole life supporting Uther's policies so they're unlikely to believe you'll be any different when you inherit.

"We need allies who will support _you_ when you take the throne and the trading contacts Fendrel has with the northern kingdoms are invaluable. If we have those relationships to leverage off then..."

"Enough, Merlin," interrupted Arthur calmly, "I know all the arguments but I've made up my mind."

"Arthur, please at least..."

"What happens to Gwen if I marry Jaquelyn?"

"Jaquelyn would have no problem with you continuing your relationship. You know that. She already knows everything and she doesn't care. Arthur, you need to put aside your own desires and think about the future of your kingdom. If the northern kingdoms unite against you under a strong leader and you have alienated allies who are anti-magic, then... "

"The answer's no, Merlin," said Arthur softly but firmly. "You've done your duty as my advisor but the answer's no."

"Fine, but my strategic assessment does not change. The problem may be several years away but it remains a problem. Even Uther recognises the nothern kingdoms as an issue. That's why he's determined for you to marry Jaquelyn and...," Merlin stopped and dropped his head as if in some sort of pain.

"Spit it out, Merlin."

"If you don't make the necessary marriage then Uther will expect _someone_ to. You know that."

Arthur placed his hand on his advisor's shoulder.

"I know. But you and Morgana have always known that would happen one day. Please, Merlin, don't abandon me now. I _love_ Gwen and I want her to be my queen. Please keep working with me to make that happen."

Merlin just nodded, forced a smile and then turned and left the room.


	69. Chapter 69

**Mordred**

He made camp that night as far away from the carnage as he could manage in a day. His magic, so violent and fierce in the valley he had called home, seemed to have burnt itself out and he'd had to slog his way through the forest rather than use his gifts. He felt empty, small, useless. _This is what it must be like to be normal_, he thought. _How can they bear it?_

He put down his small roll of possessions and considered whether to light a fire. It was still summer but autumn's chill was biting the air early this year and the warmth and comfort would be welcome.

Still, he didn't know if he was being followed; did anyone know of his crime? Would they ever? The Druids were alone in the world and surely none would care. Even if it was so many he had slaughtered. Uther, if he found out, would probably knight him for his service to the Kingdom.

He gave a small abandoned sob then rallied himself to get some water and find some food. Fortified in this regard, he sat down on the lumpy forest floor and wrote his plea. He would find someone to deliver it for him tomorrow.

Then he lay down, uncomfortable, unwarmed but also exhausted, and he slept.

* * *

The next day was surprisingly warm and so he carried his jacket over his arm as he walked. He loped along for what seemed like days before he saw the midday sun glint off the roofs of some rough houses. A small village with an inn. He used his sparse coin to pay for a warm meal and some provisions. Then he handed over some of them to a man who agreed to carry his message to Camelot.

Then, feeling his magic still dead inside him and being wary of towns, he moved into the gloom of the woods again. This time, he did risk the fire and it cheered his mood considerably.

As the warmth softly kissed his palms, he felt something unwind within him and a spark of power stir. It was not the overuse that had choked off his gift, then, but his own anguish. He would remember that.

He muttered a protection spell and feel into a deep sleep.

* * *

The birds greeted the dawn with extraordinary enthusiasm and he allowed himself a quick smile at the sound. He'd spent his life close to the Earth; to that which gave and took life. He felt the world beneath his feet as something alive and throbbing with magic.

Some of the Druids thought that the balance of the world was like a set of scales in a market. Overload one and the scales tip. But he thought the balance was not some kind of measuring instrument but a rhythm or a flow.

It was as though the world was the brackish water in a stream where fresh and saltwater met. That was where you could find life; where fishermen cast their nets and lines. We can only drink fresh water and think therefore that saltwater is bad. But change the balance in that place and the fish died.

That was life and death; the balance of the world, the flow of magic.

He had a quick bite of bread, hid the remains of his fire and head off. He didn't know where he was going; only that he should keep moving until Emrys came for him. _If he does_.

He pushed away thoughts of rejection. Emrys was a good man. Regardless of anything else, he knew that to be true. He only wished he could say the same thing about himself.

He walked ahead for hours, not caring about his direction – just moving forward away from his past.

He rounded a copse of trees and came into a clearing; stopping in frozen fright at the elegantly-dressed woman in front of him. A frission of recognition shot up his spine. _She was magic_. But more than that. She... she was like Morgana. He had never met her but knew her nonetheless.

She smiled to see him and held out her hands.

"Hello Mordred," she greeted him; her accent marking her as a woman of station. "It is good to see you again."

He simply cocked his head in curiosity. He was a man of few words under any circumstances and this was no exception.

Her smiled softened and she gave him a somewhat sad look.

"But of course you do not remember me. It was too long ago and too much has happened."

_You do look familiar_, he thought at her, _when did we meet?_

_We've always known each other, Mordred. We've been at the edges of each other's minds always. _

"I'm sorry I've been away," she finished out loud. "I hope in time you understand why it was necessary. I have been remiss, however. I acknowledge that freely. I thought you under the care of Aglain, a good man. I did not know of his death or of the death of your father. I'm afraid my attentions have been... elsewhere."

_Who are you?_

Morgause smiled again and strode gently across the grass to place a hand on his face.

"I'm your mother, Mordred." She paused to let the news sink in.

"I intercepted your plea to Emrys. I had no idea things were so bad for you. I came as soon as I knew."

_And Emrys?_

"Does not know of your plea, my son. I have answered in his place. You do not need him now. I am here to teach you all you need to know."

Mordred gave her a shy smile and dropped his small bundle on the ground.

"Then you're a sorcerer?"

"One of the most powerful in Albion, my son. But not near as powerful as you will be."

_Do you promise?_

"I promise."


	70. Chapter 70

**Merlin saves Arthur**

**The Abridged Version Part 4**

"So, after I used the magic staff to kill Sophia and her father, I pulled you out of the water – no mean feat with that armour, I tell you – and made up that ridiculous "eloped" story. Which you apparently _believed_."

"I had a bump on my head. Besides, she was a... very attractive woman."

"She was an evil fairy who put a spell on you."

"A valid counterpoint."

"Ooh, Arthur Pendragon concedes something. Will wonders never cease."

"Keeping going in this vein, Merlin, and it will be the wonder of your continued existence that will cease. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire!"

"So, where were we?

"Umm, let me think. There was... um... well, there was... oh no, that's not... so... um... another of Nimueh's plots. I thwarted her. Nothing to tell really. And then... oh... then we went to my village to fight Kanan and..."

"And you summoned a wind to defeat them and your friend took the blame right after he saved my life?"

"Yes."

"You lied to me. A bald-faced lie, straight to my face."

"Yes."

"We'll come back to that one later, Merlin."

"Are you very mad?"

"I'm not sure yet. I notice you've only brought it up now after spending the last half hour telling me all the heroic ways in which you've saved my life."

"Thought it was appropriate timing."

"Um hum."

"So, unicorn. I kind of owe you for that one."

"Indeed. Good to know I'm not totally useless."

"Of course, if you'd _listened_ to me from the beginning then maybe you would never have _been_ in the position to..."

"Perhaps."

"In fact, if I remember correctly, there are many occasions where, if you had listened to me..."

"Let's move on, Merlin."

"Arthur?"

"Yes, Merlin."

"You're not totally useless. And you know... you know that I'm your friend and I would do anything to keep you alive." He grinned almost sadly. "Even if you are a complete prat."

"Merlin?"

"Yes, Arthur."

"You're about to tell me about the Questing Beast, aren't you? A lot about that, well, it never really made sense to me."

"Arthur... how would you feel if you knew that I had... the power of life and death? That I could maintain the balance of life in the world."

"I'd suggest you get your head examined. Preferably by Gaius."

"Well then, I suggest you sit down."


	71. Chapter 71

**The moment**

_This is it,_ the voice whispered in the darkness, _this is when it changed. This was the moment. This was the 'then' from which comes the 'now'. Not destiny. No. Never destiny. But something falling and knocking over another thing. Yes. Should we ever go back to stop the world that we are in from coming to be, if that were at all possible. If we could, then this would be it. This would be the moment. On this decision, the world turns._

_We never could of course. Go back and change it. More than this outcome hung upon this instant. More than history can ever tell._

_Did you even know, Emrys? Did you realise? Until then, her magic was a curse; an evil clawing its way out of her without her consent. Until then, she would have wished it gone with every breath, every fibre of her being. Until then, she wanted nothing more than to be that which everyone but you thought she was._

_And the legends, oh, the legends. Written by men. Have you ever noticed how all the magic men are good and all the woman evil in the legend? Can't let women have that sort of power. No. They will move to evil. But there was no evil, Emrys. That was the problem. There was no evil at all._

_They say from the best of intentions comes the greatest evil but this was not even about actions and intentions, Emrys. You know that better than anyone. Your great legacy rests on this moment after all. _

_Even I am complicit because I put my needs above all else. I saw only the tiny people scurrying through time like ants. I saw only myself; my hate. My screaming hate that echoed through all your lives. _

_I used to judge, Emrys. No more. You come to me with regrets and apologies but I cannot give you what you want. I cannot give you the support you need. I have learnt my lesson: once I knew that lessons could still be taught to one as old as I. Once I overcame my arrogance. _

_Balinor's charred corpse was my lesson, Emrys. Your mercy was my lesson. And that mercy did not extend to just me. Nor her. When I tell you your mercy extended too far, Emrys, you will breathe relief that I am judging you for your mistakes in regard to her. But that's not the case. Your mercy extended too far only when it came to him. _

_I realise that now. My mistake. The mistake I counselled you to make. You should have put her before him. Always. You and he would blaze through history. But history should not be the sole driver of a man. You knew that. Yet the lessons I gave you struck too deep. His need for a father should not have outweighed her need for justice._

_Do you want to see, Emrys? Do you want to see why it can not be undone? Why all will be doomed if you even attempt it. The future is uncertain; I concede it. The prophecies are many and complex. I made this one happen because in this version I was free. I am selfish; I thought that was well-established. _

_But if I let you see the moment, you will know the truth. It will be worse if it does not come to pass. The present will be bleaker even than it is right now. This is it. T__his is when it changed. This was the moment. On this decision, the world turns._

**

* * *

**

Six years before

How long had she been like this? How long had she sat on the cool earth, his body in her arms, her tears on his alabaster skin? Later she would be unable to remember; the seconds or minutes or hours of that time blanked clean from her mind. If someone had told her she had sat there for weeks, his broken body in her arms, she would have believed them.

She would see sometimes in her mind the images; stark absolutes of colour. Jet black hair, bright blue eyes, skin so white it gleamed in the sunlight like the hide of the unicorn inside him, and the deep reddish brown of the blood. So much blood: blood staining the white material of her shift, drying slowly in the sun; blood seeping into the ground; blood still sluggishly seeping from some of his wounds. She thought it was almost beautiful.

"I dreamed," she whispered to him, softly. "I dreamed that you were dead." And she reached out a hand and gently closed his eyes because she could not bear to see them so lifeless. And she thought, she thought, maybe there's a chance he's still alive. I am no physician. If I can get him some help, someone to tend his wounds. She thought, I have to get him on the horse and back to Camelot. She thought, I can't. I physically _can't_. She thought, I have to. If there's even a chance, I have to. Because Merlin can't be dead. He's Merlin. He's _there_. He's just always there.

And she'd sat, his head against her arm, his beautiful face against her breast, and she had willed him to live, with every fibre of her being. For the first time, she wanted the magic she knew was within her, wanted it desperately. What she would do right now with such power. It called to her but she did not know how to find it.

The power. She would find it. And she would use it. She would not let him die.


	72. Chapter 72

**A/N So, to say that I'm back that may be an exaggeration. Still, I'm determined to finish the stories I've started so far, starting with ALiM. I still don't have much time to write and my back problem is apparently permanent so my writing is limited but I'll do my best.**

* * *

**Grief part 1**

Grief was irrational. Well, he thought, that was hardly some sort of revelation. If anyone were to study grief, they would now be surrounded by enough for a lifetime of research.

Grief was something Malcolm knew well despite his age. He remembered his father's death well; the grief of his loss only heightened by his guilt at the relief he felt coursing through him. Grief was irrational shifting sands of emotions that toss you side to side.

His father was not a bad man. He had loved him and simply wanted what was best for him. He still lived in a world where Knights begat Knights and truly believed that was Malcolm's dream. Because, in his mind, it was every boy's dream. He had wanted to save his son from the mediocrity of scholarship. From the mediocrity of his son's preferred path through life.

How do you mourn someone's death when their passing was when your life truly began? How do you look at yourself in the mirror on that day?

Malcolm had been lucky, really. He knew that. He knew that better than he knew anything else on this Earth. Malcolm had had Merlin and Gaius and both of them had just... understood. They'd given permission to his emotions; the whole contradictory swelling mass of them. They hadn't judged, hadn't seen him as a bad man. _Boy_. He had been only 10 after all.

There was a... permissible... scope of grief allowed in Court. There was simply a way people went about these things and only certain kinds of expressions of grief were acceptable. But Malcolm had had people who let him know it was fine to feel other kinds of things; hatred, relief, guilt, confusion.

When Merlin had gone to Mercia, Malcolm had wanted to go with him. He was supposed to be his servant after all. How could Merlin leave him behind? But Merlin had insisted that he stay and learn from Gaius and, even though he was upset by the decision, he had rallied quickly and determined to learn as much as possible while Merlin was gone.

Then Kilgharrah had broken free and Malcolm had seen the safe world he'd built after his father's death crumble around him. And in the aftermath? Here was his old friend, grief. He knew him well.

Tristan hid his grief well; the trauma of losing his leg hidden behind his usual teasing grins and flirtations. He hopped around the infirmary chasing the noble women who had volunteered to tend to the injured Knights' wounds. The woman laughed at how easily they outran him but he never gave up his attempts to attack their virtue.

Still, there were moments. Malcolm saw them after everyone else had retired to their chambers and he was the only one left in the infirmary. The Knight would sit banging his useless stump against the chair. Tristan didn't seem to care if Malcolm saw his sadness and anger. Maybe he knew he understood.

The King had Gaius to take care of him, thankfully. Malcolm saw Uther as a terrifying and authoritarian figure. He would rather be forced to walk through the fires of Hades barefoot than tend upon the King.

Gaius tended to him and shielded him from his subjects but Malcolm saw flashes there as well. Helplessness. Failure. Tiredness. He wondered if the King would ever recover enough to lead his people again. Still, by supporting Gaius, Malcolm could help the King as well. However small it was, there was something he could do.

In poor wounded Percival he saw shame. The Kingdom lay in ruins; Lancelot dead and the Knights decimated and Percival had been forced to sit in the infirmary eating gruel. It had not been his choice but still, the young Knight felt a coward. Malcolm was able to do more there. Percival was closer to his own age and Malcolm understood his guilt and shame.

He began treating the Knight in his quarters with a course of medicines, fresh dressings, conversation and board games. In this case, friendship and laughter did more than any treatment and after a few months, he felt the Knight would come through and be alright.

But for Guinevere? Guinevere who wove listlessly through the world as though she were now the only person in it? Oh, for Guinevere, Malcolm could do nothing. And he ached with his uselessness.

Or maybe he just ached.


	73. Chapter 73

**Grief Part 2**

She walked slowly into her rooms and sat down at her writing desk; barely noticing the sun slip down below the horizon as she sat, eyes unfocused, staring at the page that remained steadfastly blank. It had been Merlin that had suggested writing. It was a very Merlin solution to a problem. Morgana had suggested riding or learning to spar. The recovering King had simply given her bewildered stares as she walked dazedly throughout the castle barely noticing the bustle around her.

Her husband, despite her most determined morning motivation, she avoided or ignored. He gave her the odd beseeching look as she listlessly ate meals or sat staring into the distance during the evening's entertainment. But he was so busy with the rebuilding and refortification of the kingdom that he was regularly distracted from her mood.

And really, rebuilding was what she should be doing. She had charge of the household now she was married to the heir but she found herself allowing Morgana to take the responsibility as she always had. She was a better administrator than Gwen anyway.

She looked down at the sheet of parchment, blurred now in the dimness of early evening, then started when she heard a scrape at the door.

"Your Highness," said a coarse but nonetheless female voice with a start, "I'm sorry, Your Highness but it was so dark. I thought no one was in here."

"It's fine," Gwen roused herself to say, not caring either way. She looked at the maid standing warily at the open door.

"Let me light some candles for you, Highness," the woman asked.

Gwen simply nodded. Perhaps some light would shine through the blanket she felt over her heart. Sunlight broke through fog and showed travellers the way. Maybe this candle could do the same.

The maid lit the sconces and put a reading candle by her right hand.

"My lady," the woman began slightly nervously, "the Court will be eating now. If you don't... I mean, can I bring you something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry," Gwen replied vaguely, her eyes on the pristine white sheet in front of her.

The maid paused as if to argue then bobbed and left her chambers.

Gwen looked up briefly at the door closing softly then picked up the quill and dipped it into the ink. She moved the writing implement over the paper and watched as a drop of ink slowly welled on the end of the nib. The ink flowed slowly into the small discrete ball until the weight finally pulled it off the pen and splashed onto the page. The black dye sank into the parchment and she saw the death in my mind's eye. All that death.

Lancelot's brutalised body being carried back from the field. Bits of his flesh, his beautiful flesh, had fused with his armour and tore off as they tried to undress him for burial. Her stomach had once given a horrified lurch in response to the memory but not now. Now she didn't feel anything. She knew that was one of the reasons Merlin had encouraged her to write.

She couldn't, she realised. She had nothing to say. Not for Knightly heroism or charred corpses or a peasant man who had taken charge of Camelot's Knights because their Prince was nowhere to be found. When Kilgharrah charged, the King had ridden out. And when he had fallen? Where was her noble husband then?

And maybe it was irrational. Merlin's magic was the Kingdom's secret defence and he alone could find the way to defeat the dragon. She didn't blame him. Merlin had been exactly where he should have been, doing exactly what he should have been doing. But Arthur? Camelot had needed a leader. And Arthur was following Merlin on his adventures like he was still a child.

She put the quill down and walked to the dark window. In the square, lit by a hundred torches, the men still worked on the monument to Lancelot. No Knight should have to play the role of a King. Her Lancelot should die by Arthur's side, not in his neglectful absence.

She felt then, for the first time, a small nudge of something in her guts. Maybe it was something like anger. Maybe. Maybe it was blazing anger. She pushed it down. She was not that person. Had never been.

The door opened and shut behind her but she didn't turn around. She could sense him. She could always sense him when he came into a room. He was that sort of man.

"Guinevere," he said softly.

She ignored him and kept her eyes fixed on the square outside.

"It's ironic, isn't it?" he said finally.

Gwen glanced at him but then turned back to the window.

"All that time and effort. It was obvious that he loved you. It was obvious you... desired him. He didn't want to return to Camelot lest his presence come between us. And you both spent all that time being so damn noble. But I can't compete with a martyr, Gwen, or any other dead man. You made your choice and it was me, not him. But nonetheless, here we are and...

"Lancelot has ruined our marriage anyway, hasn't he?"

She turned to him finally, her hands lying firmly by her side instead of in one of her nervous gestures.

"Where were you?" she seethed. "He rode out to defend us but where was our great prince? Hiding behind Merlin as he always is."

She stood a few steps toward him and then stopped.

"It should have been you."

"I know," he admitted.

She felt the nudge in her gut become a blow and the words and tears pour out of her finally.

"It should have been you. It's your role to lead the Knights into battle, damnit. You're supposed to be our Prince. You're supposed to defend Camelot not run around the forest with your magical playmate. And Merlin is perfectly able to defend himself.

She strode quickly to the adjourning room, wrenching it open and throwing herself through. She turned before she slammed it on him, locking herself in the bedchamber to allow the emotions to finally break free.

"It should have been you."

And she locked the door, leaving him on the other side.


	74. Chapter 74

**A/N Here 'tis, the beginning of the oft-mentioned Excalibur cycle. This will be played out as one mini-arc (like the Mercia arc) so no need to worry. **

**For the sake of the story, I had to make the lake further away than the show implies.**

* * *

**Excalibur**

**Part 1**

They set out in the pure, crisp morning air of spring; the trees blooming with life and insects buzzing around their heads and diving into fields of wildflowers. The nights were still crisp and cool but the days were beginning to warm and summer's promise was in the midday heat.

It was a glorious time to start a journey; or at least it would have been if they could ever get organised to leave. Technically, Arthur was to lead the expedition to recover Excalibur with a select smattering of Knights. The reality was more epic and less efficient.

Morgana had insisted on coming for some strange reason that had to do with Merlin needing her or something like that. Her presence meant the need for other women and, since Arthur's wife was now quite pregnant and could not leave the comfort of her home, Lady Brunhild had volunteered to join a doting Sir Caradoc on the journey.

The former Germanic knight had turned up that morning armed and in chainmail; with a large crossbow strapped to her back. Arthur had been horrified, Merlin amused, Morgana impressed and slightly envious, and Caradoc had looked as though he'd like to drag his wife back to their bedroom.

Arthur, whose thoughts tended to veer into disturbing territory after four years of observing Merlin and Morgana's relationship, wondered if 'heroic female knight' featured a lot in their bedsport. Then he wished he could scrub his brain clean.

Both woman had servants, as did Merlin and Arthur, some of the Knights had brought their squires and, as the extensive retinue was packed onto horses and into carriages, Arthur began to wonder if the whole of bloody Camelot was coming.

"Enough!" he yelled suddenly. "No more! I'm the Prince and this is getting ridiculous. Merlin, Morgana, Caradoc, Brunhild, Percival, Yvain, Vidor, Malcolm. That's it. This is a quick and clandestine mission to a Lake not much more than two day's ride from Camelot. It is not a general migration. Two packhorses only. We will keep this retinue small."

"But Sire," argued Sir Vidor, "my squire..."

"No Vidor, I have spoken. Remove everything we don't need and let's go."

"You have heard the word of your Prince," yelled Caradoc in the grizzled, guttural way he had, "turn this caravan into an acceptable entourage with speed or feel my gauntleted fist in your face."

The unnecessary baggage finally jettisoned, the group made their way through Camelot's gates in good time; losing sight of the city by midday.

They rode in silence for a half an hour or so; enjoying the quiet of the forest and the warm sun on their faces.

"Sire," said Yvain, riding up beside his Prince, "is it true that we are not the only ones seeking this sword?"

"According to the reports from my network, this Pretender Prince is aware of its location and is determined to retrieve it as well," replied Merlin for his master, "which is why we make such haste."

"Are we worried about attack then? It is surely in their interest to stop our party so as to give themselves time to get the sword."

Merlin simply nodded. "You have not been chosen for this expedition lightly. The knights with us are the most loyal and longest serving. We wish to escape notice by not being too large but we need to be protected also."

"Then I will scout out in front, My Lord, and try to root out trouble before it hits the main party."

"Take Vidor with you and please be careful. And Yvain!" he yelled after him as the Knight went to gallop up ahead, "I'm not a Lord."

"Yes, My Lord. Sorry, My Lord," replied Yvain with a grin and rode off with Vidor behind him."

"We can thank Malcolm for that particular joke sticking then," said Arthur with gruff amusement.

"Indeed," agreed Merlin, "although when my shy and clumsy assistant became such a bloody... smart ass... I have no idea."

"When he turned twelve, as with most boys."

"True."

"So, Merlin," asked Arthur finally; broaching a subject he'd wanted to raise since the word 'Excalibur' was mentioned. "You asked me to trust you and said that you would tell me later how you knew where this sword was and how we could get it. This is later, Merlin."

Merlin nodded and Arthur noticed Morgana took his hand and gave it a squeeze. He smiled at her and Arthur wondered what it was about this trip that had suddenly made her as protective as a mother hen shielding her brood.

"Arthur," Merlin began, "there is a short version of this story and a long version. Which do you want now?"

"The short version, Merlin, as you should know by now. I'm a 'short version' kind of man."

"Do you remember when that Knight came to Camelot; the one that could not die. Your father drugged you to stop you from fighting him?"

"Vaguely," replied Arthur, "that was nearly..."

"...seven years ago," finished Merlin, "when I was new to Camelot. The Knight was a wraith; a dead man walking and impossible to kill by ordinary means. I forged a sword that could kill the dead. But it was so powerfully-dangerous that I took it and threw it in the lake to keep it from being misused. After your father killed him, of course."

"Merlin...?" Arthur stopped his horse; causing the others following to draw up suddenly to avoid a collision. "That doesn't make any... we've talked about everything magical that happened before I knew your secret, so how... why haven't I heard this before? How did you know it was a wraith, how did you know how to kill it, how on Earth did you manage to forge a sword that could kill the dead?"

"I'm sorry, Arthur," said Merlin gravely, "but that's the long version."

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted after him as he and Morgana canted away together.

"I wish he wouldn't do that," Arthur heard Malcolm sigh from his steed as he drew up next to the Prince. "Doesn't he know how dangerous it is to run off like that? How can I protect him when he behaves with such recklessness?"

Arthur looked at the chubby 14-year-old disbelievingly and then burst into laughter.

"Gods, you sound like your master sometimes," said Arthur. "I hope you're as much of a pain in his backside to him as he is to me."

"Yes Sire," said Malcolm gravely, in a perfect impersonation of Merlin. "In fact, 'pain in the posterior' is part of my job description."

"Good to hear," said Arthur, "now let's find those two and get some real answers. And hope that we don't get attacked by this Pretender before I can wring the truth from him."

"Yes Sire," agreed Malcolm, "that seems a sound plan."


	75. Chapter 75

**Excalibur Part 2**

They made camp early in the bright heat of summer's late afternoon; the Knights grumbling and complaining about having to set up their own camp in the absence of most of their squires. Malcolm took an unseemly enjoyment in ordering them around as they pitched their tents and settled down to make cooking fires.

Yvain arrived at the camp site as the long twilight was drawing to a close and reported to Merlin that he hadn't seen any threat in the immediate vicinity.

"It seems, My Lord, that perhaps our concerns were unfounded," he noted.

Merlin simply nodded pensively, failing even to smile at the old joke, then moved toward the forest to cast a protection spell around the borders of the camp.

"My Lord," Percival called after him, "Sir Vidor has not yet returned."

Merlin turned back and gave Yvain a curious look.

"Vidor?"

"We separated, My Lord. He thought it would allow us to cover more distance. I assumed he would have returned by now."

"_He _thought you should split up?"

"_We_ thought," Yvain corrected himself; the Knightly code of loyalty asserting itself, "we thought we'd cover more ground."

"Umph," Merlin grunted, then added after a pause, "Tomorrow, you stay together. We don't know who's in these woods."

"Yes, My Lord," Yvain replied, chastened.

Merlin smiled reassuring, "Get some food and rest, Yvain. Big day tomorrow."

Yvain grinned back, suddenly the uncertain boy he'd once been, "Yes, My Lord. Thank you, My Lord."

Merlin finally laughed slightly and turned to Percival.

"First watch. I'll cast the spell when Vidor gets back to camp.

Percival nodded and moved to the perimeter while Merlin sought out Caradoc. The grizzled Knight was seated by a cooking fire cutting up a rabbit while his wife chopped vegetables for what was obviously going to be a soup.

"Vidor made Yvain split up," he said, "and now he hasn't returned to camp."

"Disobedient pup," growled Caradoc, "do you want me to go and find him?"

Merlin shook his head.

"Just keep your guard up. Something doesn't feel right. If the Pretender's men are in this forest, he may have been captured."

Caradoc nodded, the rabbit's blood running down his fingers and over his wrists.

"And the watch?"

"Percival, Yvain, you and then myself. If somebody does attack it's most likely to be at dawn."

"And Vidor?"

"If he's not back by sunset, I'll cast the protection spell and we move on tomorrow morning without him. Once we have secured the sword, we can find him."

Caradoc gave him a sharp glance and then resignedly returned his attention to the animal he was skinning.

"And me, Merlin," interjected Lady Brunhild, somewhat challengingly, "how may I serve?"

"A likely attack will target Arthur and the knights but it's possible they may decide to take the Lady Morgana instead. Assigning a Knight would be... inappropriate. I need you to guard her. Two women spending time together is thankfully unremarkable."

Brunhild gave him a long, somewhat suspicious look and then nodded gravely.

"I'll guard her with my life." Then she glanced at the carrot she was peeling. "After dinner."

Merlin looked around at the gathering shadows and gave a small concerned grimace.

"I'm beginning to think we should have brought Peregrine."

"You need men you trust in Camelot as well, Merlin. And Leon remains ignorant of too many things."

Merlin nodded then left the couple to their meal while he sought out Arthur.

"Merlin," the Prince greeted him, "been sufficiently busy and important? Or do you need me to give you an official role? Maybe Castellan?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow but refused to rise to the Prince's bait.

"Camp's secure and the watch is set. I want you to stay in camp tonight so that means no watch."

"Excuse me, Mr Advisor? Last time I looked, I was the Crown Prince and had charge of the Knights. I can hardly lead them if I'm busy sleeping."

"I have a bad feeling, Arthur. Please."

"You always have a bad feeling."

"Please, Arthur," Merlin asked him seriously.

"Fine, Merlin," conceded Arthur grudgingly, "but on one condition."

"And what's that?"

"I need the whole story. Now.

"I have to make sure Morgana is settled and comfortable. And then I'll tell you everything."

Arthur considered him for a moment and then nodded. "And you'd better have my dinner made by then as well."

"Already organised," said Merlin smugly, "Malcolm's cooking it as we speak."

"Umph," grunted Arthur and then he waved to Merlin to go and find Morgana.

* * *

The sun had slipped below the horizon when Merlin approached the small fire Morgana had made at the edge of the treeline.

"I was beginning to think you'd be caught up all evening," she said with a smile as she handed him a bowl of soup. "One of Malcolm's creations. Somehow he takes normal food and turns it into ambrosia."

"He's a very special boy," Merlin agreed, "and he'll make a wonderful physician once Gaius passes away."

"Will it be very soon?" asked Morgana, with not a little sadness.

"He's old," said Merlin simply. "He's just old."

"And you really think someone like Uther will accept Malcolm? He's not a man that copes well with change. Or youth. Or younger sons. Or nobility that takes orders from peasants."

"Morgana," Merlin chided her slightly.

"Still as small and bigoted as he's always been."

"Please, let's not have this fight. Not tonight."

Morgana opened her mouth to say something and then put a spoonful of soup in it instead. She swallowed and then waited for Merlin to speak.

"Arthur wants the truth," he said finally. "I have to tell him."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded and they sat in silence for a few more minutes while he finished off his soup. He put the bowl down on the ground and looked at her.

"It's one thing to keep a secret from him. But I lied, Morgana."

"You lied to protect _me_, Merlin," Morgana argued, her voice rising in anger. "How do you think Arthur will react to that? It's not you he's going to blame."

"Yes, it is. I'm the one who lied."

"And I'm the one who nearly destroyed the whole Kingdom."

"He doesn't have to know that," Merlin argued.

"He may not be the brightest star in these heavens, Merlin, but he's smart enough to ask himself why you would have told this particular untruth. If he knows about our relationship with the dragon and asks himself why you lied..."

"Morgana," he said softly and took her hand in his. "This is hard for me too, you know?"

The anger was expelled from her suddenly in an exhaled breath.

"I know. Are you going to tell him about... her?"

Merlin shook his head. "I don't see that it's relevant. It was a long time ago. Still, I haven't been here since her death. It's..."

Morgana shifted to sit beside him and looped her hand around his shoulders.

"From what I understand you didn't fail her, Merlin. Her death was inevitable. Perhaps even welcome."

"No," he argued, "I failed her. I promised I wouldn't do that again. Coming here reminds me of..."

"I can't fail Arthur," he finished finally. "Not now. I have to tell him the truth. He deserves it."

"You know," Morgana added, obviously trying to remain calm and supportive, "he's forgiven you worse than one lie before. If you keep it simple and don't tell him about... well, maybe he won't be that angry at you."

"Furious," he whispered, "he'll be furious."

She placed her hand on his cheek and then kissed him gently.

"Then you'd better get it over and done with it."

He nodded, stood up slowly, and walked off into the moonlit night.


	76. Chapter 76

**Excalibur Part 3**

_Morgana_.

She looked down at her white dress; her feet bare on the cold mossy ground. When she exhaled, her breath misted in front of her face as though it was winter and the chill from the stones beneath her feet shafted up her shins like ice.

Around her, the trees – tall and straight – towered up toward the sky and she could hear the muted sounds of birds in the distance.

_Morgana!_ The voice was more insistent now and she thought she saw a dark flicker of movement between the trees.

"Who's there?" she yelled. "Who are you?"

_You know who I am, Morgana. _

"Where are you?" she cried, her voice being absorbed into the forest as though it was a thick down pillow.

She turned to find an intelligent face in front of her own; barely having time to register wild blonde hair before remembering to take in a shocked breath.

_I'm here, Morgana. _The lips didn't move but she knew somehow that this was the woman whose voice was in her mind. Whose voice had been in her mind for a long time.

_I've always been here_.

Morgana woke with a terrified scream dying on her lips and the sounds of battle in her ears. Torches raced around her tent and in the flickering light she could see bodies crunching into one another as men yelled and swords shrieked with their contact.

"Merlin," she gasped, remembering where she was. She grabbed her sword and crawled quietly out of the fabric flaps and into the night.

"My Lady," said a deep and authoritative voice and she turned to see the Lady Brunhild crouched by her tent with a broadsword in her large hands.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "Why aren't you fighting?"

"Merlin tasked me with defending you," replied Brunhild evenly. "I keep my word, My Lady."

"Well, you can defend me from the middle of the battle," spat Morgana. "Now, who are they?"

"I don't know. They attacked just after moonset and rode straight through Merlin's barrier like it wasn't there.

"Not bandits, then," she muttered to herself, "could be Druids but why would they attack us?"

"We can work that out when we wake up tomorrow alive, My Lady," interrupted Brunhild. "If we're going to fight, the time is now." She drew the crossbow from her back and loaded it with a bolt.

Morgana nodded, swept her dark hair into a knot on her head, grabbed the sword and gestured to Brunhild to follow her.

Their enemies were strangely disorganised. Some seemed trained as well as Knights, with well-tended gear and tactics honed in battle. Others were like peasants armed desperately with rocks and the odd ill-chanted spell. Some were obviously bandits: vicious, brutal and trained to kill quickly. Something wasn't right.

"Concentrate," Brunhild hissed at her and she shook her head to clear it of thought. She swung her sword around and heaved it toward a young man charging at her with nothing but a paring knife.

As the sword cleaved the air toward his head, the air shimmered around him and he disappeared.

"What?" she managed and felt the knife graze her hip as he slipped past her.

"He made himself invisible," she yelled to Brunhild.

She stopped in the mayhem, closed her eyes, and concentrated on the spell.

"Abir díegles," she breathed and _sensed _his magic graze the corner of her mind. She swivelled on her ankle with one fluid movement and felt the vibrating impact as her sword embedded itself in his neck.

She opened her eyes and saw him flicker back into view before falling in a bloody mass to the ground.

"Umph," grunted Brunhild and gave Morgana an approving look as she dragged the sword out of her assailant's neck. She took out two more men with her crossbow and then gestured toward the main row of tents where the bulk of the fighting was still going on.

"He was a powerful sorcerer," Morgana said, almost to herself. "What was he doing with this rabble? It doesn't make any sense."

"It explains how they got through our shield," argued Brunhild.

Morgana shook her head, "Merlin cast that shield. I don't know of a sorcerer who could get through that. Apart from myself."

She thought of dreams of wild magic and calm gold eyes. _She could do it, I'm sure. Whoever she is. You know she has the power. You can sense it._

"Come on," she said out loud instead, "let's get to it."

They threw themselves back into the fray, encountering only poorly-trained peasants with crude weapons until they reached the main body of the fight.

"Vidor," Morgana greeted the Knight, as she crouched down beside him hiding behind a tent, "what's the situation?"

"My Lady," he replied, looking disapprovingly at her blood-soaked nightgown and sword. "You should return to your tent and wait until we..."

"Report!" ordered Brunhild, with an angry look at the suddenly-startled man. "A member of your royal family requires your report, _Sir_ Vidor."

"My apologies, My Lady," stumbled Vidor, "I just thought..."

"Report, Vidor," Morgan commanded him.

"While reconnoitring yesterday, I came across a group of armed men. They looked suspicious so I followed them back to their camp to spy on them. As night fell they discovered me. I raced back here and they, unfortunately, must have tracked me. I'm sorry, My Lady. I should have been more careful."

"It's fine, Vidor," she reassured him. "They're mostly ill-trained and badly equipped. No match for us."

"No, My Lady, although there seem to be some sorcerers among them."

"No match for Merlin, trust me."

Vidor gave her an enigmatic look.

"No, My Lady."

She looked at Brunhild towering above her and realised she could almost see her in the night.

"Dawn's coming," she noted. "We join the others, make one big push, and they should scatter with the sun."

"Like all vermin," added Brunhild bluntly.

Morgana smiled wryly at the other woman.

"Sometimes you sound disturbingly like your husband."

"Thank you, My Lady. I consider that a great compliment."

"Ladies, please," argued Vidor, "you should leave the battle to the Knights. This is no place for woman."

Morgana and Brunhild simply ignored him and threw themselves from behind the tent and into the thick of the fighting. Percival, Caradoc, Arthur and Yvain were engaged with six men of obvious skill and training. Malcolm and Merlin were nowhere to be seen.

"Todrife!" Morgana felt the spell release and the six men went flying.

"Morgana," cried Arthur, "help Merlin."

"Merlin?"

He stopped to take a breath, obviously winded from the fight.

"He's at the perimeter. Some kind of magical attack. Malcolm's helping him but Merlin got injured in the surprise attack and he's losing strength fast. With Brunhild's help, we can take the rest."

Morgana simply nodded and took off toward the edge of the treeline; the arbitrary perimeter where Merlin had set his magical shield the night before.

As the trees closed around her, she felt the same sensation from her dream: the claustrophobic stillness and sense of magic in the air.

"Agh!" she heard Merlin yell and she ran through a copse to find him standing surrounded by a swirling, streaming greenish light. Blood stained his tunic in one of those old familiar places. One of his scars had been reopened. THe crossbow bold probably. She shivered as she remembered the livid welt on white skin. He would never know how injuries like this terrified her even after all these years.

Malcolm was standing beside him, quietly chanting a strength spell, skin wan and eyes already sunken. His skill was learnt, not natural. There was no way he could support a skilled magician against such a strong attack.

Morgana ran up to the man she loved and mentally probed the assault. It was powerful; almost as powerful as her. Almost as powerful as Merlin.

She took a deep breath and tried to think. She could supply him with power to fend off the spell. She could try to deflect it herself. She could... she held out a hand and gently grazed the edge of the magic that assailed him. Then she cast her mind back along its length, wending its way through the trees until she felt...

_I've been waiting for you, my dear. I wanted to see what you had in you._

_Stop it,_ she thought at the familiar presence, _you're killing him_.

_Of course. Just a test. I have to say he's a bit disappointing. _

_He's injured. Badly. If this is a test it's not a fair one._

_One should be prepared for any eventuality, Morgana. We're all mortal. Mostly. But I am not unreasonable. I will stop my test if you meet me tomorrow night._

_Meet you?_

_I'll stop my attack and your group will make it to the lake unmolested if you agree to meet me. I have something I want you to know._

Morgana looked at Merlin struggling in the magical field.

_Agreed. Just stop. Now._

The silence in her mind and in the trees told her the attack was over. Merlin and Malcolm slumped down together on the forest floor and she ran back to camp to tell them what had happened.

"Oh, that's just great," said Arthur as he cleaned his blade of the blood of the remaining attackers. "I'm starting to think his nearly-dying is deliberately timed so I can't stay angry at him. Go, Yvain, Percival, Caradoc. You too, Vidor. Bring him and Malcolm back to camp. And remind him that I'm furious at him. That hasn't changed. I don't care how injured he is. I'm still bloody furious."

Morgana found herself smiling in spite of herself.

"He spoke to you last night then."

"Yes," said Arthur shortly and he slammed his sword back into its holster. "Did you know about this? That he knew the dragon this well. That he created a sword this powerful."

Morgana didn't answer. There was no answer. Merlin told her everything. Arthur knew that.

"I don't know if I can ever trust him again."

"I think we might have a bigger problem than that," Morgana said, hoping to deflect Arthur. Besides, it was something he needed to know.

"A bigger problem than finding out my Advisor regularly and blatantly lies to me?"

"Vidor told me he found these men's camp and they tracked him back here."

Arthur nodded, "He arrived around midnight. They attacked just after moonset."

"And you don't think there's something odd about that story?"

"What do you mean?"

"Arthur, how did he get through the shield?"

Arthur simply stared at her in disbelief. And then he schooled his features as one of his most-trusted Knights came back into camp carrying Merlin in his arms.


	77. Chapter 77

**Excalibur Part 4**

The camp was already disassembled and the group ready to depart when dawn rose pink and vibrant over the horizon. .

Arthur stood by his horse – pack stowed carefully on the creature's back and his day's provisions slid into saddlebags – his thoughts so consuming him that he barely noticed the fresh smell of dawn give way to the new day.

He was Prince Arthur, heir to the throne of Camelot and head of the Knights of the realm. In his 30 years, he had had the ground beneath his feet shift and crack so many times that he barely knew how he had not until now falling upon the ground from the movement.

It was strange, he thought, how things could change so damn quickly. He should be furious with Merlin – another day, another lie. And one, this time, that he didn't yet understand.

Merlin's motives he may not comprehend, but of Merlin's loyalty at least he had no doubt. He knew, even in his anger and confusion, that somewhere Merlin had a reason.

But Vidor? Treason in his case was the only explanation. Why?

Merlin was still unconscious and exhausted from his defence of them the night before. Morgana had cured his injuries but there was no spell to alleviate true exhaustion. The body had its own demands that transcended even a witch's power.

He gave a small ironic smile at the thought that his anger at Merlin could twist so quickly into frustration that he was not there to advise him.

Who to explain Vidor's actions but Merlin? Who else could explain how Vidor, whose suspicion of magic remained strong despite everything that had happened, could be in league with rogue sorcerers. It made no sense and he needed Merlin's insight to unravel it.

His musings were interrupted by Lady Brunhild who came up behind him loudly and then cleared her throat to let him know she was there.

He gestured to her to report.

"The camp is ready, Your Highness," she said, "Merlin and Malcolm are still asleep but we've made litters to carry them. Everyone else's injuries are minor and they are able to travel the short distance to the lake."

"Thank you, Brunhild. That's excellent work:"

_Work I won't be telling my father about_, he noted mentally. His father had been very specific about Brunhild's role on the trip. It involved being close to Morgana and female and that was about it. _So, I amended it to 'close to Morgana', 'female' and 'heavily-armed'. How will he ever know?_

He'd been particularly impressed by her actions during the battle the evening before and it seemed a significant waste of talent not to utilise her training. Vidor, he noted, had seemed particularly resistant to her having any military role. _Magic and women_, he thought, _why did I not notice this before? _It was the same kind of 'natural order' philosophy that kept Uther so motivated against change.

"Can you bring me Morgana?" was all he said out loud to the Germanic Knight, "I need to speak to her."

"Of course, My Lord," and she strolled off, her crossbow still strapped to her back and a broadsword swinging at her hip.

He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the morning summer sun on his face before snapping open his eyes at someone's approach.

"It's just me, Arthur," Morgana's slightly-mocking tone announced, "or were you expecting to be launched upon from behind?"

"I assume nothing about my world at the moment, Morgana," he countered, "Have you thought about our situation?"

"Vidor can't be trusted."

"Yes, I managed that much on my own, thank you. I was hoping for something a little more insightful."

"Who's gotten to him?" she asked rhetorically, "I can't imagine."

"Could he be enspelled?"

"Come on Arthur, you know better than that. If magic could control people so completely, this would be a very different world."

"I know that. But if Vidor were to ally himself against us, surely it would have been done years ago and to forces that _oppose_ magic. I'd find it more believable that he were a spy for my father than that he were in league with whoever these people are. But if he was then he would have exposed you and Merlin a long time ago."

"True. And if he had, I'd be dead."

Arthur paused and gave her a surprisingly insightful look.

"He has always wanted to marry you. If you were exposed as a witch, Uther's reaction would likely have been… intemperate. It still doesn't explain any of this though. Why not expose Merlin instead? With him gone, Vidor might delude himself into thinking he had a chance of convincing you to wed him."

Morgana gave him a thoughtful, if somewhat devious look.

"What if there's a way to find out?"

"Let me guess, you have a plan?"

"Vidor would have been sent to scout ahead today, yes?"

"Under normal circumstances, yes. With Yvaine."

"Let him go again. Alone this time."

"You think he'll contact them?"

She nodded. "And I'll be following."

"Morgana!"

"Merlin and Malcolm are injured, Arthur, and none of the others can be trusted until we know more."

"I trust Caradoc and Brunhild."

"With our lives?"

Arthur wavered uncertainly and then conceded.

"Fine, but do it discreetly. If anyone else is compromised we're in a lot of trouble."

"Agreed."

She turned around and began walking back toward the litters where Merlin and Malcolm were sleeping.

"Morgana."

She turned to face him again.

"Let's get to the lake as a group first. We can send scouts out this afternoon. I'd rather we all stayed together until the camp is set up again."

She nodded and turned back to her healing duties with a sombre expression on her face. _It must be killing her_, he thought, _to see Merlin so injured again. And it won't be the last time. At least Gwen is safe and well in Camelot. I can barely imagine how it feels for her to keep having to nurse him back to health. Heroic idiot._ And, despite his best efforts, to remain numb he found himself feeling lighter. He mounted his horse, gestured to the others, and began the day's journey.

The trip to the lake took longer than anticipated because of the litters they were carrying but was mostly uneventful. Yvaine and Percival were both still young enough to feel exhilaration after a battle and they rode ahead of the group expanding on their adventures until the short and brutal battle became a great heroic adventure in which they had both excelled.

Arthur gave Caradoc a tired and jaded smile at their antics and was rewarded with one of the Knight's patented eye rolls.

"Puppies," he said softly and Arthur found it in himself to laugh.

"I don't think I was ever that young," Arthur said.

"You were, lad," Caradoc corrected him, "you just had more responsibilities and you couldn't leave your father far behind you on some distant estate."

Despite his best efforts, Arthur found his melancholic mood exerting itself.

"That's what it comes down to, Caradoc. Doesn't it? Family."

"What else is there?"

"In our world, nothing. We pretend to protect Kingdoms and ideologies but it's all sophistry. We protect our name; our legacy. Our honour."

"And is that so bad, lad?"

"I guess it depends on whether you believe that history is more important than people. And on the legacy you're supposed to be fighting for."

"Irrelevant if you don't have the power to change anything. No point fighting alone for a doomed cause."

"You sound like Morgana," Arthur said, somewhat surprised.

"Then Morgana has a point. Despite what you may think, history does not remember martyrs. Not real ones, anyway."

"Merlin says that power is a tool and not its own reward."

"Then they agree," said Caradoc flatly.

Arthur gave the Knight a measured look.

"No," he admitted, "they don't."

He would have liked to continue the conversation. It was unusual for Caradoc to be so philosophical but, when he was, Arthur found him an excellent source of advice.

Before he could marshal his thoughts, however, they arrived at the lake and found themselves busy with the usual routine of making camp.

Lunch was made and eaten on the shoreline and then the camp settled down into an almost oppressive silence as they tried to busy themselves in some way.

"Surely we can search the lake ourselves," Percival argued, bored from sitting around in the heat of the afternoon, "it's in there somewhere, isn't it?"

"Merlin believes it's protected and only he can get it."

"Protected by whom?"

"I have no idea. Merlin's explanations for this situation have been unusually tortured. Even for him."

"He has his reasons," Morgana interjected protectively. "You'll understand them soon enough. Anyway," she continued, with a meaningful movement of her eyebrows, "while we wait for him to wake up, we should send out patrols to ensure those who attacked us last night are not nearby and waiting to steal the sword from us when we recover it."

"Agreed," Arthur said, returning her signal. "But most of us should remain here to protect Merlin while he sleeps. Yvain and Vidor, can you run separate patrols? Yvain to the East, Vidor to the West."

"Split up?" Yvain argued, "Sire, are you sure?"

"Yes, Yvain, I'm sure. I need the others here to protect Merlin and we have no choice."

"Yes, My Lord," he conceded, "we'll leave at once."

They moved to mount their horses and headed off in separate directions.

Morgana waited till they were out of sight and then turned to leave. Arthur grabbed her arm.

"Be careful," he told her, "if Vidor should spot you…"

"I placed a spell on his horse, Arthur. I can follow him without him ever knowing I'm there. I'll be fine. Take care of Merlin for me."

"I will. Despite the fact it's supposed to be the other way around."

She smiled at that and left.


	78. Chapter 78

**Excalibur Part 5**

Morgana rode quietly through the woods, pursuing the illuminated hooves of Vidor's path. It could not have worked out better, she thought to herself as her horse ambled quietly through the sun-dappled trees following the traitor.

By following Vidor and proving his guilt, she also gave herself the opportunity to meet the blonde sorcerer that haunted her dreams and her past. She still remembered with guilt and horror the day she released the dragon. Still remembered the woman with wild blonde hair who'd come to Ealdor that day: the same woman who'd been stalking her dreams like a golden-eyed cat since the plague.

Who was she and why did she fixate on her? What was her scheme?

_To recruit you, obviously,_ her logical half argued, _like the dragon. I can hear the arguments now; the same as his. Beware the manipulations of the angry and the powerful. _

Still, that much power could be useful. Could be harnessed even. She had attacked and nearly defeated Merlin and her power had been immense. If Morgana could be the recruiter instead…

Her horse stopped still at a gesture from her and she strained again to hear the sound that had caught her attention. A snap, she was sure, like a broken twig or a branch.

"I thought we had agreed you would come this evening," a measured voice said behind her. "You're a little early. And following an enchanted trail it appears."

Morgana turned her head to see the sorcerer standing on the path behind her. She dismounted and walked up to her; noting the loose trousers and shirt so similar to what she was wearing, the light chain mail and the broadsword swinging at her hip. Above her practical attire and beauty, her eyes sparkled gold with an extraordinary confidence. Morgana was unprepared for the shock of recognition that hit her when those eyes met hers.

"How do I know you?" she asked, her curiosity overcoming her.

"We've met once already, do you not remember," the woman said.

"Yes, but… I was too caught up in my own troubles to notice it then. At least not so much. Why do I feel as though I know you?"

"Have you ever felt this before?"

"Yes," Morgana disclosed hesitantly, "once. With a boy."

"Mordred."

"You know Mordred?" Morgana asked her.

"Of course. Your kindness to him is one of the reasons I'm here. He believes that you are committed to the cause of allowing magic back into the land. He believes that you are not as you appear to those on the outside looking in."

"And how is that?"

"As Uther's loving ward. Happy in domesticity and… subservience."

Morgana bit back the surge of anger at the characterisation, recognising it in time as deliberately provoked. _Manipulative_, she thought, _just as I expected_.

"People can think of me as they please," she said instead, masking how much the barb had stung, "I know who I am and what I work for."

"And what is that?" the woman asked her.

"Nothing I need discuss with a total stranger," she shot back, "particularly one who only last night tried to kill the man I love."

"Calm yourself, Morgana. I would never have killed Merlin. I just wanted to test him… and you. A warlock of his abilities is too rare. It's just a shame I didn't realise who he was before this. It may have saved us some grief."

"You do realise I have no idea what you're talking about?" Morgana replied pointedly.

"Of course. Please. Come with me and I'll explain everything as best I can. Don't worry about your traitorous Knight. All will be revealed soon enough."

"Can you at least tell me your name?"

"My name is Morgause," she answered simply, "and our camp is not far from here. Your man will take a far more circuitous route to maintain the illusion of performing a search. We will take the direct route."

The two women walked in silence through the woods until, coming through a copse of trees, they entered a clearing with a small encampment nestled within it.

Between the rough tents and cooking fires, Morgana noticed Druids, sorcerers, rough bandits and the odd heavily-armed mercenary.

"Eclectic group you have here," she said, hoping to spark a comment that would shed some light on what was going on.

"Volunteers, mercenaries, the... magical dispossessed. All come together for a common cause."

"And that is?"

Morgause stopped by a tent and gestured for Morgana to sit down beside the fire, which she did after only a small hesitation.

"For the past ten years," she began, "my sole aim has been to stop the persecution of those with magic and return it to the land. That is my driving purpose."

"A noble one," Morgana said, "in theory."

"Indeed. There are those whose methods have been... distasteful. Nimueh. Alvarr."

"If you're about to start a list, I suggest you stop," Morgana interrupted her, a sarcastic tone underpinning her speech, "We hardly have sufficient time."

"Very true," Morgause agreed, "the actions of many who claim to fight for our cause have been abominable.

"And yours have not? Did you not attack us less than a day ago?"

"Unfortunately, even for such as myself, compromises must be made. Alliances demand them."

"And who have you allied yourself with that require you to make such... compromises... as surprise attacks on sleeping men."

"All in good time. First, an old friend approaches who wishes to see you again."

Morgana looked around for a moment, unable to see anyone familiar. A tall dark haired young man with milky skin walked toward her and she realised with a shock who it was.

"Mordred!" she cried and she came quickly to her feet to embrace him. "Gods, you're a grown man. I scarcely believe it."

He smiled shyly and returned her hug tentatively.

"How old are you?" she asked him, scarcely able to believe how good it was to see him again.

"Eighteen," he answered her, still obviously a man of few words. "Nineteen soon."

"And you're well? You're happy?"

"I've found my place," he said simply, "Morgana, I... I wanted to introduce you to... my mother," he finished and he gestured toward Morgause.

"Your mother?" she repeated, somewhat rhetorically. She turned to Morguase, "Is this true?"

"Yes, Morgana. It's a long story, which I will tell you in full. But the afternoon grows old and I have not yet told you what I need to."

"And what is that? Why have you brought me here? Aside from the obvious."

"Because the time has come to overthrow Uther and install someone more sympathetic on the throne."

"Arthur," Morgana suggested.

"No, Morgana. You may not see it but Arthur is too much his father's son. Change will be too slow and not go far enough under his rule. Even if he wanted to overthrow the laws, you know he could not. His foray to Mercia saw to that. His allies believe him to be as stridently anti-magic as Uther. As _they are_. How long will Camelot last if he changes its policies so radically?"

"Then who?"

"You."

"Me? I'm not in line for the throne."

"As Uther's ward, you are closer than you realise. You are of noble blood. Backed by our allies and by magic, you will rule uncontested."

"How?"

"We install a proxy on the throne. One who the people of Camelot will accept. We wed you to him and then dispose of him. Our coup is complete."

"And who is your proxy? No, let me guess. Vidor. He's a Knight of Camelot. Aside from a legal heir, only a Knight could seize the throne in such a way."

"True, but he is not our proxy. He has, however, been working for him for several years as a spy."

"Then who?"

"Mellum."

"Mellum? That unchivalrous bastard is your 'Pretender Prince'.

"His father is a powerful and distinguished landowner whose crusades against magic are well-known. Should something... unfortunate... happen to Uther they would easily accept such a candidate. Especially..."

"Especially if he had the sword proclaiming him the future King of Albion."

"Excalibur," Morgause said with a certain kind of relish, "With Excalibur, Mellum could claim a divine right to rule and take the throne from Arthur without bloodshed."

"Arthur would live?"

"And Emrys."

"Emrys is my friend," Mordred said suddenly, "I would not support a plan that hurt him. He works for magic in his own way. He's just... misguided."

"Emrys' loyalty is his greatest quality," Morgause continued, "but it makes him blind. He tolerates too much in its name. You know this to be true."

Morgana found herself unable to do anything but nod at that. It was simply true.

Then she shot Morgause a wary glance.

"So, Mellum is the ally that resulted in your little 'compromise'? It has his cowardly name written all over it."

"Yes. Mellum brings with him a mechanism for seizing Camelot and a number of disgruntled former Knights and mercenaries. All as stridently anti-magic as himself. They believe they are using _us_."

Mordred gave a sneering laugh at the thought. "They believe they need magic to deal with Merlin."

"And that you are under his spell," Morgause added, "Vidor is actually trying to _rescue_ you."

"Rescue me from what," Morgana asked contemptuously, "happiness?"

Morgause gave a warm and genuine smile at that.

"You see what we are dealing with? We have a strange band of allies here: Mellum and his men; several sorcerers and Druids who are tired of Alvarr's methods and his ego; and a large number of Camelot's own magical refugees."

"From Camelot? You mean... those who left via the underground Merlin and Lancelot were running?"

Morgause nodded, "With Lancelot's death, the numbers escaping Camelot have slowed to a crawl. Many of them are worried for their loved ones. They've joined us in the hope of freeing them."

Morgana sat back down and looked deeply for a moment into the embers of the fire.

"What precisely is it that you want me to do?"

"We were never going to get Excalibur from the lake ourselves. I was raised on Avalon, I know the sisters there. I begged them to get it for me but they flatly refused. Only Merlin can raise it from its depths. He's the only one she will give it to."

"And you want me to steal it for you?"

"Think, Morgana, of the bloodshed that could be avoided by this one act. I promise you that Emrys will live. Uther will be overthrown and you will rule. Magic will return to the land and all this brutality will end. You will have the power to shape the world as you wish."

Morgana looked up at Morgause in the dimming light of the late afternoon and realised how tempted she was by the plan. She thought of her dream, those images from so long ago. Arthur and Mordred dead. Merlin a stranger. Such pain. Such regret.

And then she realised why she must be there.

"Do you know what I know?" she asked the other woman, rhetorically. "I know why you always come to me. The dragons and the evil sorcerers and all the ones with _plans_. I'm the selfish one, aren't I? The mercenary one. I am the one you think you can manipulate with dreams of power. You never tempt Merlin with these things. Why would you? He's the hero. I'm the hero's tragic love affair. Well, I am tired of being the one who makes the mistakes, the one who chooses convenience over hard work, the one who's always being _forgiven_. I am tired of being the puppet on the string to the likes of you."

She stood up and straightened her clothing with determination.

"I came as promised and you have outlined your _grand plan_. Now I'm leaving and you can scheme another. One that doesn't involve me."

She turned to leave, wondering precisely what tactic they would use to keep her from leaving. But in her wildest imaginings, she never imagined what it would be.

"Morgana," she heard Morgause call from behind her, "you're here because... you're my sister."

And she stopped. And she turned. And she walked back to the fire.


	79. Chapter 79

**Excalibur Part 6**

"I have no family," she said out loud, her chin rearing up in defensive pride, "except for the one I've built for myself."

"That is simply not true, my dear. Uther has lied to you. A lie of omission, perhaps, but a lie nonetheless. Now, please, sit. There is a story I have to tell you. And I don't have much time."

* * *

Morgana made her slow way back to camp just as the sun went down behind the vast expanse of water that guarded the way to Avalon. For a moment, she'd been convinced that she could see a shimmer of the island beyond the summer mist that had settled upon the lake but when she blinked it had disappeared.

She remembered, so long ago now, being that confused girl groping in the dark in a world turned on its end. That silly little girl believing in a world of nobility, chivalry, beauty and a natural order that she pretended to rebel against but embraced every day.

It was strange that she and Arthur had always defined themselves so much in terms of Uther; in emulation on his part and rebellion on hers. Children forging a world in their father's image whether they realised it or not.

Morgause was right. This was all just one big family dispute. Children brawling over a toy. Unfortunately, that toy was a Kingdom. That toy was people's lives. So, who should win the battle? Who should earn the right to play?

_Not Uther_. That had always been her answer. She'd long ago realised how simplistic, how childish, that was. Merlin was the one who asked _if not Uther, then..._ That question had been enough to keep her quiescent for too long. It was time for her to make a decision. She'd done it once before. She had chosen Merlin. That was the only time, she realised, that she had decided anything.

Everything else had been expectation, rebellion, anger. She'd meant what she'd said to Morgause. She was tired of being the one who made the mistakes, the one who was always being forgiven for impetuousness and selfishness. The dragon had told her so many years ago that she was the selfish one. The mercenary one. And she had merely reacted, determined not to be the things he accused her of.

_All I do is react. All I do is rebel. All I do is instinct. And I'm better than that. Smarter than that. And it's time for me to make a decision. A real decision. One that does not take into account Uther or Merlin or Morgause or Mordred or anybody else's expectations. No regret, no begging for forgiveness after I realise my mistake. It's time to grow up._

And she dismounted from her horse and walked toward the group beside the lake.

* * *

Merlin opened his eyes to a late afternoon sky of dark blue and took a breath of air deep into his lungs. He still felt a great weariness in his heavy limbs but he pushed himself upright nonetheless and swung his legs off the litter he was lying in.

Malcolm was lying on a similar stretcher on the grass beside him; the youth's face looking far younger than his fourteen years would suggest. He smoothed the straw-coloured hair off the young man's forehead and felt his temperature with the back of his head. No fever. That was a good sign. He had obviously just been as exhausted from the attack as Merlin himself.

Merlin looked down at the bandages wrapped around his torso and bare chest and probed them carefully. No damage. Morgana must have healed him and let him sleep. He remembered now: a knight had surprised him in the attack and sliced him along the top of his stomach. _More scar tissue_, he thought, _excellent. Because I don't look enough like a butchered piece of meat. Morgana will be thrilled._

He placed his hands on the litter and tried to hoist himself up onto his feet only to find that his legs wouldn't cooperate. He sat down with a whoosh of breath and heard quick footsteps heading in his direction.

"My Lord," said Sir Yvain as he came up behind him, "My Lord, you should still be resting."

"I'm not a Lord, Yvain," he said faintly, hoping the old joke would encourage the knight into thinking he was fully recovered.

"Irrelevant when considering whether you are sufficiently able to stand," was all Yvain replied, not falling for the tactic.

"We came to get the sword, Yvain," Merlin stated firmly, "I'm assuming we're at the lake?"

"Yes. We arrived earlier this afternoon."

"Well, I'm the only one who can get it. And I can't do it from here. Help me up."

Yvain crouched down, placed one of Merlin's arms across his shoulders and wrapped his own around the other man's waist. Then he straightened his legs bringing Merlin with him to an upright position.

"Can you stand on your own?" he asked him, concerned.

"Just give me a minute. They're a little weak but I think they'll work it out in a moment."

"Can you not use magic?"

Merlin smiled, "Everything has its time and place and use. Even magic. Things will be worse if I don't let my body recover naturally. And I cannot afford to be unconscious for a month. Morgana knew what she was doing letting me sleep."

He slid Yvain's arm off his waist and placed his weight firmly on his own legs.

"There, that should do. I could use another night's sleep but that can wait till I get back to Camelot."

"If you'll forgive my forwardness, you could use another _week's_ sleep."

"Oh, wouldn't that be heaven," Merlin said, with one of his deeply infectious smiles. "A week in bed. When I was first in Camelot I would dream about such a thing. Now it appears one whole night is a luxury I cannot afford."

"There will come a time when you can sleep, Merlin. I promise you. When Arthur is King and there is peace. We'll all sleep then."

Merlin patted the other man's shoulder, pulled himself free and moved forward toward the lake without assistance.

"Where's Morgana?"

"I am unsure," Yvain admitted, "Vidor and I were sent off to patrol. I only returned a few minutes ago."

"Merlin!" Arthur stood up from a cooking fire he'd lit near the lake's edge and called out to him again. "I was worried you'd sleep through the night as well. We're far too vulnerable here and the sun's about to set."

Merlin nodded, well aware that he was pale even for him. "You want to grab the sword and run? That's a dangerous ploy."

"The dangerous ploy was them attacking us last night. That made little sense. Their best plan was always to wait until we had the sword and to attack us then."

"You think last night was a softening up?" Caradoc asked as he came to join the group, Brunhild close beside him.

"I don't know about you, but last night simply made me more determined," said Yvain fiercely.

Caradoc flicked his eyes to Merlin struggling to stay on his feet and back to Arthur. "No, I'd say we were definitely softened. Particularly if they can bring magic to bear again. You think if we run we'll take them by surprise?"

Arthur shrugged, realising even as he did so that it was hardly the act of a leader or a knight. "It's a bright night, the moon is nearly full and the lake reflects it well. They waited until after moonset last night for a reason."

"Knights don't flee," Yvain argued and Percival nodded in vehement agreement. "We stay and fight."

Caradoc gave Arthur a pointed look that reminded him of the morning's conversation. _History does not remember martyrs._

"We run." Arthur's tone brooked no argument. "Now, Merlin, I need you to...," he waved his arms to suggest general activity of an unspecified kind, "do... whatever it is you need to do."

"We need to wait for Morgana first," he argued.

Arthur nodded to the treeline behind him, "She's here."

Merlin turned and smiled to see her. She smiled back but it didn't meet her eyes and his expression changed to concern.

"Are you well? Where have you been?"

"Confirming a theory." She looked at Arthur, "Snatch and run?" she asked him and he nodded. "Then I suggest we do it and quickly. There is no benefit to any further deception."

Arthur nodded and gestured to Merlin to proceed.

Yvain and Percival looked confused and Yvain finally asked, "Vidor?"

"Will not be coming with us," replied Arthur shortly.

"But w...?"

"Later, Yvain. Morgana has a story but it can wait. Merlin! Get on with it!"

Morgana walked to his side and took his hand, giving it one affectionate squeeze and letting it go. She nodded and he kissed her softly before walking slowly and painfully down to the water and stretching out his arms toward Avalon in the distance.

"Freya cíegan," he whispered and stood back to join the rest of the group.

"What? That's it?" Arthur asked, sceptically. "We needed you for that?"

"Hush, Arthur," Morgana scolded him, "this is hard enough on him as it is."

Arthur looked at her in confusion.

"No one likes to be reminded of their failures."

The sun dropped finally behind the lake and the moon took up its duties with an enthusiasm only seen at this time of the month.

And in the depths of the illuminated lake, a warm glow began to form and expand moving toward the shore with a leisurely determination.

As water became land, so it began to coalesce into a form, the light dimming until a girl stood before them on the grass, a sword raised in front of her face.

Black hair fell to shoulders clad in a green and purple dress of elegant design and dark eyes shone behind the glint of the carefully-crafted blade.

Arthur and the other Knights drew back slightly, their reaction admitting to their fear even if they never would. Fey women from lakes were the stuff of nightmare stories about sirens and drowning that they'd heard many times before.

"Merlin," the girl greeted Arthur's advisor, an Irish brogue to her voice. "It is good to see you again."

Again? Yvain mouthed to Arthur and Arthur frowned his own ignorance.

"I have kept this safe for you knowing you would need it again one day."

"Thank you, Freya," Merlin replied, a small hitch in his voice. "It is good to see you again too. I'm... I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for, Merlin. It was not your fault, nor the fault of your prince. I was doomed long before you met me. Because of you, I gained a purpose. A task to fulfil. I have kept this safe and now I can finally repay you for your kindness. Excalibur is yours."

She stepped forward and laid the sword upon her cold palm for him to take. He placed his hand tentatively upon the hilt and then gripped it and heaved it upright to gleam in the moonlight.

He turned and repeated her actions to Arthur, handing over the sword to the prince before turning back to the spirit.

"Where will you go now?"

"I have fulfilled my task. My purpose is complete. For this service, I have earned a place in Avalon and a new name. I am now Nyneve, a guardian of that which may soon require guarding."

"I don't understand."

She smiled sadly, "I hope you never do. These things are not assured and the sisters have done their best to avert them. But there are more decisions to be made."

"What decisions?"

"I cannot advise you, Merlin. None of these decisions are yours. But I will tell you this. You cannot blame yourself for every injustice in the world. They were here before you and will be here long after. You did all you could with what was within your power."

She turned her head and her small, shy smile to Arthur, "I do not blame you, Prince of Camelot. You did what was necessary to protect Camelot."

"But who are you?" Arthur demanded of her.

She simply smiled, turned and walked back into the water, fading to nothing the deeper she waded.

The group stood for a moment of awed silence before looking around at each other with determination.

"Now we run," growled Caradoc.


	80. Chapter 80

**A/N And that's it for the Excalibur arc. Hope you enjoyed. **

* * *

**Excalibur part 7**

Hooves hit the ground in a thundering rumble, manes soared and branches flew at them through the darkness under the trees as the group pelted homeward. There was such a freedom in running as there was in fighting. An abdication of thought to instinct; the muscles, joints and heart moving faster than the conscious mind could order it.

For Morgana, it was a relief from the circular whirring of her thoughts as she mentally strode down every lane and mapped out the consequences of her decision.

_Take the sword. Don't take the sword. Support Morgause. Stay loyal to Arthur_. And at the back of her mind the determination to not allow her feelings for Merlin to influence her decision. To not be constrained by the choices presented to her so far.

_What was the best outcome? What was the way through? When she looked at Camelot in her fantasy future, what did it look like?_

Peaceful. Magical. Intellectual. Renewed.

Her perfect Camelot, she realised, did not have her or Arthur or Uther or a pig like Mellum on the throne. It had Merlin in charge: Merlin with his intelligence, his insight, his kindness, his knowledge, his courage. His magic.

She shook her head, even as a wind whipped up that cut through her cloak as she pounded through the moonlit night.

Merlin would never agree. He didn't want power, at least not that kind. He'd support Arthur till the world ended in flame. And it would, she could see that now. Morgause would not stop and if the refugees were flooding back they could bring the Northern Kingdoms with them as Merlin had always feared.

If that happened, killing Uther would serve no purposes. Morgause was right: Arthur had become too tainted with his father's policies. Merlin had supported the current regime too long.

She saw him fly past her on his brown mare; its pace being matched by Malcolm's. They had used magic to wake the boy in the end and he would suffer considerably when they finally reached home.

Arthur's horse galloped in front of her, his horse already beginning to flag from the wild ride. They didn't even know if they were being followed and Morgana could hardly share with the others why she thought an attack unlikely. _They're waiting to see if I will deliver the sword without battle_, she thought. _They're waiting to see what I will do._

She saw the sword, wrapped in blankets and strapped to Arthur's back; the pommel glinting at her in the night air. The problem was Mellum, she realised. No matter that Morgause was using him for her own ends. She couldn't hand Camelot to a man like him even for a short period.

_No, Excalibur stays where it is until I have a better plan. One that achieves our objectives, avoids bloodshed, and keeps that boar off the throne. Our allies matter. Our methods matter. Merlin taught me that. And a dragon that laughed while he boiled my skin and then left me alive._

The group pulled up their horses and regrouped in the clearing they'd camped in the night before.

"We're about halfway there and our horses are tiring," said Arthur, somewhat breathlessly, "I haven't seen any sign of pursuit. Suggestions?"

"We keep going," Merlin said in a tone that did not invite argument, "If we stop neither I, Malcolm, nor the horses will be going anywhere for at least a day. We need the safety of Camelot so we can rest properly. If we keep this pace, we may lose the horses but we will be home by dawn."

Arthur nodded and patted his steed reassuringly.

"Morgana, do you sense anything magical?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. But they may be waiting for us to rest."

"Fine. We keep going and hope we're not sacrificing our horses out of an unjustified fear."

* * *

They finally clattered down the cobblestones of Camelot about an hour before dawn, the horses still alive but labouring under the weight of a night-long gallop. Brunhild's stumbled on the slippery stone but managed to stay upright as they moved through the silent streets.

Arthur had instructed the guard at the front gate to be vigilant but they had not seen, nor had Morgana felt, any sign of pursuit and the group sighed with relief as they dismounted in the main square.

Arthur grinned and turned to the group, confident that they were now safe.

"We did it, everyone," he said simply, "we did it. You have no idea how impressed I was by all of you. Now, go and get some rest. Celebration can wait."

Caradoc and Brunhild strode off, closely followed by Percival and Malcolm who staggered exhaustedly toward Gaius' rooms.

Yvain stayed for a moment, obviously wanting to ask about Vidor. Arthur gave him a tired look and pre-empted the question with the facts, "Vidor was a traitor, Yvain. He was working for our enemies."

"That's not possible," Yvain said disbelievingly, the colour leaving his face, "he was one of us."

"No, Yvain," Morgana said gently, "he's been a spy for many years. The other night, he deliberately led our enemies right to us. I followed him yesterday to be sure and our suspicions were sound. He hadn't been one of us for a very long time."

Yvain nodded, bowed slightly, and took his leave of them as custom demanded but Morgana could see the cloud that covered his face. The young man had known many things in his life but treachery was not one of them.

"Who was he working for?" Arthur asked her.

"Arthur, I will answer all of your questions but I need to get some sleep. I can barely think. Can I report to you tomorrow afternoon?"

"Of course, Morgana. Vidor's treachery is going nowhere. However, I need Merlin for a moment. Can he join you later?"

"I was going to my own chambers, actually. Merlin's so exhausted I feel it best he get at least a day of uninterrupted sleep."

"Very well."

Morgana strode off in the direction of her rooms; waiting until she was out of sight before veering back toward the north entrance where she could sneak out of Camelot again.

Behind her in the square, Arthur and Merlin headed toward Arthur's chambers, Merlin managing to stay upright through sheer determination.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Arthur began as they entered his rooms, "I know you need sleep but there's something I need to say to you and it cannot wait. When my father wakes, he'll want to organise an elaborate ceremony to announce that we have the sword. I'll be tied up in that for days."

"Of course," Merlin replied, "What is it?"

"Who was that girl? The one who gave us the sword?"

"Ah," Merlin said, "Do you remember the Basted; the winged panther that threatened Camelot a few years ago?"

"Vaguely."

"That was her. She was a Druid girl captured by Halig. One of Uther's... scouts. She was cursed to turn into a killer every night."

"And you knew this at the time."

Merlin nodded, "I tried to help her. It seems insane and childish now but I think I had some romantic dream of us running away together. But she... died."

"I killed the creature. So I killed _her_."

Merlin nodded, "Then I... gave her to the lake."

Arthur looked at him for one moment; one long, bleary-eyed worn out look and then he leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees.

"Merlin, I'm only going to say this once. And this is not a prelude to an argument or a conversation. I'm tired, Merlin. I'm tired of the lies, the half truths, and the omissions. I'm tired of wondering what new revelation you're going to spring on me unawares.

"I found out today that a man I trusted as much as I trust anyone apart from you was a traitor. He lied to me for years. And so have you."

He waved his hand to stop the protest that was forming on Merlin's lips.

"I said this was not a conversation. It's an ultimatum. You have served me well, Merlin. Exceptionally well and I would miss your counsel greatly. But from now on, if you want to stay in this position, your loyalties have to be to me. Not to Morgana's feelings, or to magic, or to your own protection. To me. Otherwise, you can leave and I'll find someone I can trust."

"Arthur," Merlin said pleadingly.

"You answer, Merlin. Now. It shouldn't be something you have to think about. You either can or you can't."

"You've always had my loyalty, Arthur. Everything I've done... almost everything I've done has been for you, so you can achieve your destiny."

"Merlin?"

"Of course, Arthur. My total loyalty and honesty. From now on. If that's what you need, that's what you need."

"Good. Now, go and get some sleep."

Merlin nodded and left the room, hoping that Morgana would not be angry by the promise. After all, he'd always put Arthur first anyway. Hadn't he?

* * *

Along a winding forest path that leads from Camelot to the wild world beyond; a blonde sorcerer stood; her cloak pulled tight around her in the early morning chill.

"Hello sister," she greeted another woman who came down the path toward her. "Do you have the sword?"

"No," Morgana answered her frankly, "and I won't be bringing it."

Morgause gave her a small disappointed smile, "I suspected that might be the case. You are not ready."

"Yes," Morgana disagreed, "I am. But your allies are not the ones I would choose for myself."

"But do you not realise that this is our best chance to avoid bloodshed? No one gets hurt. Not Arthur and not Merlin. The sword is our only path to avoid war. In the end, you get the throne. Magic will rule."

"Mellum will rule. And Mellum will not sit on Camelot's throne, even for a short while, while I have any say in the matter. There's Vidor of course but he is a traitor. Worse than a traitor: he's... severely lacking in intelligence."

Morgause smiled at that, "I had noticed that myself. So, what do you propose?"

"As a plan? I have none yet. But I will. And when I do, I will let you know. Cut Mellum and his untrustworthy friends loose. They are a liability. But encourage any and all magical refugees to join you. Then we will be ready when the time comes."

"Then let it come soon, sister. Because, and let me be clear, it is time for you to choose a side. You have to choose between your life in Camelot and changing the world for the better."

"I know that," Morgana told her, "I have already decided. Waiting so long has ruined Arthur's chances of changing his father's legacy. I will not wait anymore."

"I am glad, Morgana. I will hear from you soon."

"Yes, Morgause, very soon."


	81. Chapter 81

_**Lineage**_

_Once upon a time there was a beautiful noblewoman; fair of face and figure, her cheeks rosy, her hair the colour of gold, her frame tall and elegant. Many of the Knights in her father's court took great joy in her company but she took the greatest pleasure in the company of her magical friends._

_She was a kind woman if somewhat naive and cosseted. Magic was widely-practiced in those times and she had many friends who were sorcerers. One of them was even a priestess of the Old Religion who had once lived on the Isle of the Blessed and knew the other priestesses who resided there._

_Though she was but fifteen, so great was the rumour of her beauty that Knights from throughout the land of Camelot flocked to the Lord's Keep to behold her and to court her. Two Knights in particular were greatly enamoured of her and each believed themselves to be in love. One was passionate and forthright, the other noble and restrained. The first courted her, and with enthusiasm. The second courted her parents; believing it to be the honourable route to obtain his love. By the time her parents announced her engagement to the second, she was pregnant by the first._

_The woman tried to hide the evidence of her dalliance but it soon became apparent to all with eyes. When he learned of her pregnancy, the second Knight refused to cast her aside. But he decreed that her child should be put to death at birth. If anyone knew of the scandal, they would question the woman's fidelity and their children would be tainted by suspicion._

_The second Knight was the first's greatest friend. When he realised the dishonour he had visited upon his comrade, he left the Court and went home to his estates to marry a woman his parents had selected for him. Unlike the woman he had loved, this lady was fiery and complex; with pitch-black hair contrasting with an unearthly milk white skin. Despite his best efforts, the Knight never forgot his first love and was miserable in marriage for many years. He did not grieve for his good wife at all when she died a year before the Purge started, having recently given birth to a baby girl._

_When her time was nearing, the beautiful heroine of our story went into seclusion with a trusted Physician and her friend, the priestess. But, while the Physician was deeply loyal to her husband, he could not bear the thought of slaughtering an innocent child. He listened to the urgent whispers of the priestess and of the expectant mother and, when she gave birth, he allowed the priestess to take the child to the Isle of the Blessed to be raised by those of the Old Religion._

_Having disposed of the inconvenient child, the woman and the second Knight were married in a grand celebration of great pomp and ceremony. Her husband was set to become an extremely powerful man and she eventually grew to love him. However, she failed to conceive a child again. Many years passed and she remained barren._

_Her husband was both praised and mocked for his refusal to cast her aside. But, of course, he knew what only a few people did. She had had no trouble conceiving until she married him. He was barren, not her._

_In the end, desperate for an heir, the man resorted to magic to help her conceive. He went to her friend, the priestess, and bargained with her for the son he so desperately craved. But to create or save a life you need to take a life to maintain the balance. The day she gave birth to a son, the poor woman died: her life in exchange for the heir the Knight had wanted so badly. Enraged that the price of his bargain was his beloved wife's life, the Knight, now a King, declared all sorcery banned and all sorcerer's lives forfeit. And thus the Great Purge was born._

_And so the players of our story walk upon the stage and make their introductions. Arthur, heir to the throne of Camelot and Knight of the realm, the magically-begat son of Uther and Ygraine. Morgause, the discarded and inconvenient, raised with magic by the sisters of Avalon and born of Ygraine and Gorlois. And Morgana, orphaned girl child of Gorlois and a wife so unimportant to him that no one now even remembers her name._

* * *

Oh, you have a family, Morgana. I'm just surprised you never realised the simple truth. This was always about family. Everything always is.


	82. Chapter 82

**My name is Vidor**

My name is Vidor. I am my father's oldest son. I am a knight of Camelot. I am a great man.

It is a truth acknowledged universally by all right-thinking men that those of higher birth are, by virtue of their superior lineage, superior men. This is a fact borne out not just by a process of logic but by the experience of any person of intelligence.

Any men of gentle birth who have walked among the dung heaps of humanity and seen their puerile concerns, their filth, their bestial habits, and their lack of finer understanding will know this truth.

Put a peasant in finery or a prince in rags and no one could be fooled. The baseness of the former and the nobility of the latter will be apparent to all who look upon them. This is natural and inevitable: a part of what that great man Uther calls the natural order of the world. Things are they way they are.

I am a man, the eldest son, a knight and of noble birth. These things matter. These things make me better. These things deserve respect from those who do not have them.

These things I brought to her notice knowing that she would appreciate my inherent virtues, gained through my birth and position. That she rejected them reveals the hidden truth of Camelot. Magic is at play.

There is no other explanation. Magic is that corrupting force that overturns the natural order. Magic is the only force that could convince a woman of gentle birth and beauty that a peasant could be preferred to a knight, that she should be in battles and provide counsel, that she should behave as a man. Magic is the evil that must be defeated. The world should be as it should be.

I am Vidor. I am my father's oldest son. I am a knight of Camelot. I am a great man.

I alone see the truth of Camelot. And I alone can fight it from within.

* * *

**A/N** **I realised today I have been writing this story for nearly 18 months now and it is slowly coming to an end. The plan is for 100 chapters neat and that is where I'll leave it. But as this mammoth epic comes to a conclusion, I have to ask my readers what, if any, plotlines they feel need resolution. I obviously have my overall plan regarding Morgana leaving Camelot (as per Ch6) but am happy to clear up any plot points you feel have been left behind. I realise that, judging by the reviews, ALiM is mostly greeted with yawning, and I'll admit, dispiriting indifference but if you do have a suggestion let me know quickly as I'm determined to finish off the story as soon as possible.**


	83. Chapter 83

**Decisions**

She'd always loved to watch him sleep. From the very first moment he'd surrendered himself to rest with her arms around him, she'd forced herself to stay awake for hours just to watch his even breathing, the way the moonlight struck his alabaster skin, the long lashes on his cheeks.

This night she'd propped herself up on one shoulder and looked at his sleeping form with a kind of desperate, determined melancholy.

He'd never forgive her. She knew that as she knew few other things. Hadn't she seen it all those years ago in a dream? But she'd spent hours in contemplation of the problem and she'd seen only one path that snaked off in the right direction. Beyond love, and friendship, and the life she was simply used to, was her greater commitment to freedom. Freedom for herself, for her family, for the ordinary users of magic who were ground down every single day.

If magic was to return to the land, then a ruler was needed who could inspire those who followed him and terrify those who would stand against them. She'd been wrong about Merlin, she realised. Those who had that kind of power needed to want it, needed to be not afraid to use it.

Merlin seemed born to serve; his loyalty to Arthur too all-consuming, his decisions too compromised by making his prince happy. When moved to act, he could move the world. But he did not have the courage to shake the world too much. He was worried Arthur might fall off.

Camelot needed someone who understood power. Someone who was of the right lineage. Someone magical. Someone untainted by all these years of struggle. Someone who could be shaped and moulded into the King Camelot needed him to be. Once she had the answer, she knew what she had to do. The time had come to plan and act and leave behind regret.

And love.

But to leave this? To wake at night without that soft head upon her breast? To never again watch him sleep as she did tonight? To never again know love? They had had their problems, that was true. Their raised voices had echoed often in his chambers with the same tired arguments. The cracks in their relationship were clear and sharp. Words had never worked to convince him before. Words were irrelevant now.

But she would not leave empty-handed. Would not spend the rest of her time on this Earth alone. She would take a piece of him with her.

She'd made her decisions. Both of them.

In her chambers on the other side of the castle, unattended and unnoticed, her contraceptive lay untouched.

And so she rolled over, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and woke him up. One last time.


	84. Chapter 84

**A/N There I was, 2010, end of the year - I remember it well. Just as I was thinking Season 3 couldn't get any worse, Arthur **_**found**_** the round table. No great philosophical decision of equality or egalitarianism, no serious thought about the kind of King he wanted to be. Nope, he tripped over it and went 'ooh, practical!' I almost hate this show. How disappointing.**

* * *

**The Most Noble Order of the Knights of Albion**

For as long as he lived, Yvain would remember that day. It was not just the pomp and ceremony, the air of gravity, the beautiful ladies of the court in their finest clothing, the way Excalibur gleamed majestically as it slid out of its ornate sheath, or the imposing table of round stone that Arthur had commissioned.

No, it was the way his dampened heart had lightened at the atmosphere; the way his spirits had risen to the occasion. Vidor's betrayal had cut him deeply but Morgana's was as incomprehensible to him as the true nature of the stars in the glittering night sky. Since her defection, he'd gone through the motions of his life in a daze unable to understand how the world he lived in could be so different from the one he'd believed it, in his youthful naiveté, to be.

In the past, he considered, Merlin or Arthur would have seen his crisis of the soul and intervened. But they were too busy with their own confusion, anger and, in Merlin's case, despair. They did not need the burden of his despondency to add to their own.

Watching the ceremony unfold before his eyes, Yvain found his heart lighten and a smile hover upon his lips for the first time in months. _This is what I need to be reminded of_, he thought, _this is why I chose Camelot._

Arthur raised his hand and the room quietened for him to speak.

"I, Arthur Pendragon," he began, "King of Camelot and foretold ruler of all Albion, bearer of Excalibur and anointed of the sisters of Avalon, greet you on this glorious day.

"Today, we unveil a symbol of Camelot; a sign of the world we, the people of Camelot, will create. Today we found the Most Noble Order of the Knights of Albion and unveil my new advisory council. For too long, Camelot has been ruled by decree, by the whims of one man. My father was a great King but he believed absolutely in autocracy.

"I am, proudly, my father's son. In all things but this. If there is one thing I have learnt over the past 10 years, it's that I am a better man, a better King, if I can hear the voices of my people.

"In Camelot," he pointed to the three thrones behind him," we've always listened from the metaphorical top of the table, from on high. From today, each voice in my council will be as equal to my own. From today, those who are granted entry into the Order I have created will sit with me as equals."

He gestured to a servant who pulled the cloth off the table unveiling it to the room.

"From today, my knights will sit with me and give me counsel on a table that has no head, a table that has no leader.

"This Round Table has been founded in patience, humility and meekness. Those who sit with me will swear to serve, to forswear treason and cruelty, to undertake no battle for the mere promise of worldly goods, to never kill in a way that is not in keeping in the law, and to help all those that need their succour.

"The Round Table will representative our equality, unity and comradeship and our allegiance, above all, to Camelot."

Arthur gestured to the table.

"There are, you can see, twelve places at our table: nine for our Knights, one for myself, and two for my most trusted advisors, Merlin and Her Majesty, Queen Guinevere of Camelot. And so I call to be knighted once again, the new members of the Most Noble Order of the Knights of Albion: the Knights of the Round Table.

"Sir Leon, Sir Peregrine, Sir Percival, Sir Yvain, Sir Caradoc, Lady Brunhild, Sir Gwaine, Sir Mordred and Sir Bedivere."

Yvain glowed with pride at hearing his name in such an august list and stepped forward with the others to bow before his King. When he felt the light touch of Excalibur on his shoulders and Arthur's strong voice pronounce his name, he felt his heart swell once again with the old pride and the blackness on his soul lift.

He was Yvain. Of Camelot.


	85. Chapter 85

**Warning**

_Merlin_, _I hardly know how to convey to you the bad news I bear. I am afraid that I must break our agreement regarding correspondence and send this to you directly. _

_The scenario you have feared has come to pass. The northern kingdoms have held a summit to discuss the threat from Camelot's plans of expansion and I fear they have voted in favour of an armed intervention to prevent Arthur's march northwards. _

_I, and my family, have argued vociferously that Camelot has no plans of conquest but Arthur is still too aligned, too tainted, with the policies and the successes of his father. They have held off from action in hope that he will be different from his sire but they are too aware that he quickly revoked many of his recent reforms regarding the use of magic._

_I have tried to put forward that the reforms were too quickly implemented for Camelot's allies and for its citizenry who have too long lived under Uther's rule. I have argued that Arthur is simply taking a more moderated approach to reform. My protestations have fallen on deaf ears._

_The belief that the southern kingdoms have united in their hatred of magic and are set to march northwards is too much entrenched. Arthur's recovery of Excalibur has sealed his right to rule Camelot but, unfortunately, has merely served as another example of his expansionist plans. It is well known that the bearer of Excalibur is foretold to be the eventual ruler of all Albion. _

_Those we have repatriated have unfortunately no knowledge of the person who was truly behind their escape. They believe, as we intended, that Lancelot was the architect of the underground and do not know of Arthur's involvement. They have formed influential groups in the kingdoms in which we have had them resettled. They are angry and concerned for their loved ones still within Camelot and are determined to fight for their right to live in their homeland. They cannot be reasoned with. _

_Merlin, I cannot advise you on a course of action. I wish that I could. Morgana, working from my estates, has done her best to avert war, believing it not to be the best course of action. But she has laid her plans too well for Arthur's succession and her proxy has become impatient. I break a vow to her by revealing this but... it's Mordred, Merlin. _

_Mordred's protestations of loyalty and desire for redemption were a ruse. He has been Morgana's plan all along. He is the cuckoo within your nest. She believes he is the one to lead Camelot into a magical future but she never intended for him to try to seize the throne so soon. After everything that has happened, she finds she cannot control him or the juggernaut she has set in motion._

_Do not blame her, Merlin, please. She has done always what she believed needed to be done. She believed that she could force the world to be a better place. It is only now that she is realising that force is a self-perpetuating creature. She has tried with all her skills for a bloodless coup but the mob wants blood. They always do._

_I must go now and hope that this message is not intercepted. I have sent a copy to Jaquelyn who needs ammunition to continue pleading with her father on Camelot's behalf. I do not wish to be uncouth, Merlin, nor out of place, but I believe, quite firmly, that he would have interceded for a son-in-law. As it stands, he is best served by neutrality and it is neutrality that he has embraced._

_On another, and hopefully, happier matter, I can report - though I risk revealing their location should this letter fall into the wrong hands - that your children are well. Your son and daughter thrive and I will make it my duty to keep them from the trauma of the next few years. I hope, once this is resolved in one way or another, that you will join them, even if I know why you can never forgive their mother._

_I hope that it is not inappropriate to tell you that I feel for you, my love. I know that you work every day for the prince to whom you have sworn your loyalty. I know that you will do your best to stop this war from coming to pass. But I sense that the time has long since passed for diplomatic or other solutions. I fear we reached the tipping point several years ago and did not realise it. _

_I dreamed, Merlin. I hate to admit it to you but I dreamed. I dreamed there was a unicorn on a battlefield, its horn bathed in blood. I dreamed of a lion weeping. I have not dreamed such dreams in many years and they scare me though I will not admit it to anyone else._

_Keep safe my love. All my thoughts are with you._

_Dealthia._


	86. Chapter 86

**The Former Innocents of Camelot**

My name is Mary and I am twelve years old. The others say that I am young but I don't feel young. I haven't felt young for a very long time.

When I was seven, my mother and I fled Camelot. We headed north to a place where my life was not in danger, where the man who cut my father's head off could not touch mine. We found a secluded place to live in the woods in King Hoschelice's kingdom where I could run free with the birds and animals around me. My mother married again; a gentle man I like named Bevan.

He is from Camelot as well; running for his life when he realised his name was on a list of suspected users of magic. His mother had fallen to the Great Purge and Uther had all their families under watch; as he had watched mine.

Bevan crafts his beautiful wooden pieces in the sunshine all times of the year and in the barn when the weather has driven him indoors. He spent too many years hiding in a terrified self-imposed prison and loves the freedom he has taken for himself. He and my mother are happy here and I am happy for them.

I cannot be happy for myself.

I laugh, I smile, I connect with the creatures around me but inside me there is a festering anger that I cannot cauterise.

My father used to say that I was very special; his very special little girl. And then he was gone and I learnt fear. And anger. If I was so special, I think, why could I not use my gifts to stop his death. I should be able to call the animals to tear the hole in that cruel king's chest where his heart should be. I should have been able to help.

Uther is dead now, of course and by non-magical means. All his brutality, his cruelty and his paranoia were laughably for nothing. Slain by a knife plunged deep into his chest. But his son still lives and stands as my last remaining chance of revenge.

Crawley, who lives in the nearest town and who I talk to often of our days in Camelot, has sensed my fury. He has begged me to believe that this King Arthur should not be judged for the actions of his father; that he is the better man. This I do not, cannot, believe. It is impossible. My revenge must be. My revenge has found its way.

The rumours have reached us even here in our seclusion. Rumours of a great sorcerer named Morgause, her sister Morgana and Mordred, former Knight of Camelot, who plan to lead a rebellion against those forces that oppose magic. They have gathered support from all the northern kingdoms and from King Hoschelice himself and ride with 10,000 knights behind them.

When their army passes through these woods, it will have one more soldier. And every vicious beast that I can coerce to join us.

Finally, there will be war.


	87. Chapter 87

**Zenith**

When he snapped awake, Merlin realised he'd been dozing for a while rather than actually sleeping. He looked for a moment in bleary confusion at the bookcases wondering where he was and why he wasn't in a tent.

_Back at Camelot_, his mind realised. He pulled the clean white sheets up to his chin, snuggled comfortably into the down mattress and tilted slightly toward the body making an indent in his bed.

He rolled over and stroked her face slightly, hoping not to wake her and then rolled again onto his back. The angle of the sun hitting his window and diffusing his books with a warm yellow light told him it was late afternoon. He'd slept all day.

A small surreptitious noise caught his attention and he sat up slightly to see what had caused it.

"Sorry, My Lord," said a small confident voice in a whisper, "I did not mean to wake you. I was just bringing your suit of clothes for this evening's entertainment."

"It's perfectly alright," Merlin told the young servant he did not recognise. "I was just about to get up anyway. Can you arrange a bath for me?"

"Of course, My Lord," the boy said, "and perhaps a bite to eat? It will be many hours before the feast."

Merlin nodded and the child left with a bow.

He slid out of the bed quietly and into his slippers. Even in summer, the stone floors of his rooms could be cold and he hated to walk around in bare feet.

On the table, he saw that Arthur had left him the draft speech he'd written in anticipation of their success with Excalibur. Scribbled notes in Arthur's rough hand had been added here and there.

He sat down and began to write out the speech again, incorporating Arthur's suggestions and improving on some of his own wording. Tonight's speech would be the culmination of the long road to kingship for the prince. With Excalibur, his ascension to the throne and to his destiny was almost assured.

The boy from before slid almost silently into the room and placed a plate of meat and cheese by his elbow.

"Your bath will be ready in ten minutes, My Lord," he told him calmly.

"Thank you," Merlin dismissed him, finding his competence and confidence annoying. He missed Malcolm a great deal but supposed it didn't matter who got his meals and cleaned his rooms. Malcolm would soon be the King's personal physician; a far more appropriate role for his talents. And there were many members of the Court who would be less discomfited by a nobleman's son in that position of responsibility than as Merlin's servant.

Still, he thought, with a bittersweet smile, at least Gauis would be there tonight. He was glad that the dear old man could still be alive at least to see this, even if it seemed as though he would not outlive his King.

He finished the speech and the food, took his bath, found Morgana gone from his chambers – probably to dress herself for the banquet – dressed himself in his finest clothes and headed down the hallway to the Solar.

"Merlin," Arthur greeted him, as he entered the prince's private chambers, a plate of food half-eaten in front of him. "I was just having something to tide me over till the feast. I slept till past noon and have missed... just about every meal it's possible to miss."

Merlin grinned at that, "I only woke up an hour ago. And Morgana was still asleep."

"Well, with the time it takes her to prepare herself for a feast, she may not make it at all," Arthur said wryly. He shrugged himself into a deep red jacket lined with gold and with the Pendragon emblem embossed on the chest.

"Listen," Arthur said, and he stepped forward and placed his hand on the other man's shoulder, "I'm sorry if I ambushed you this morning. I hope you understand why I feel the way I do."

"Of course I do, Arthur," Merlin told him genuinely, "To me, the whole thing is irrelevant anyway. I told you a long time ago. I'm happy to be your servant till the day I die."

"Yes, Merlin, but at the time you thought that would be about six hours."

"True. But it didn't change the sentiment."

Arthur smiled at him in relief, "I'm glad. Replacing you would have been almost impossible; mostly because everyone else can undertake a simple task without blowing something up."

Merlin laughed, "I only blew something up once, you prat. Ok, twice. Three times at the most."

"And who wouldn't keep a menagerie of animals in my chambers."

"Seriously?" Merlin asked him, "you're still angry about the escaped rabbits? That was four years ago."

"The escaped rabbits, Merlin? No, I'm not angry about the escaped rabbits. I'm angry about the ten little baby rabbits the Mummy rabbit delivered in my wardrobe. You do know that you're going to be the King of Camelot's advisor one day, don't you? The advisor to the King of Camelot does not let vermin breed in his master's shoes."

"Well, I can check the statutes, Sire, but I'm almost positive there's nothing definitive regarding vermin in the legal code. Apart from that unfortunate rat catcher law that led to all those pipers being imprisoned a few years ago."

"A law that will be repealed as soon as I have the power to do so, Merlin, trust me."

"I'm glad, sire." He sighed, "It's been a long time getting here, hasn't it?"

Arthur nodded as he strapped Excalibur to his hip.

"Today is the first day," he told Merlin, "the day we will mark as the day this became _my_ Camelot. My father may have many years to live but I will have increasing control over the day to day affairs of state. Nothing too radical, of course. We don't want to upset the old man. But Camelot begins to change today."

Arthur put his hand back on Merlin's shoulder and gave him a rare affectionate look.

"I'm so glad you're standing with me, Merlin. I could have achieved none of this without you. People may think that this is my day and that I'm going to be celebrating my future rule. But when I stand up there with you, and Guinevere and Morgana by my side... well, that's what I'll remember most. That I began my rule with the people I love and trust the most by my side. That's the memory I'll hold on to."

Merlin nodded, understanding him completely.

"For me as well, Arthur. When I walk into that room and see you all there, see what we've achieved... it's like some sort of miracle. A really exhausting miracle."

They both laughed and Arthur pulled him in to an embrace.

"Then let's go and seize it, Merlin. Let's go and seize the future."

And the two men turned and walked out of the room. Together.


	88. Chapter 88

**Cracks**

**Part 1**

Dawn rose over the Kingdom of Camelot to streets washed clean with rain. The summer downpour that had begun nearly a week before was still running down the windows of Merlin's chambers obscuring the world outside and making him feel cocooned. He lay in bed staring glumly at the panes as they misted over in the cool of the morning.

"You came in late last night," he said to Morgana, who was lying stonily awake in the bed beside him. It was as an innocuous comment as he could make but even it gained him only determined silence.

He rolled over, and looked at her stormy expression for a moment; trying to decide if he should ask her what was wrong or distract her from her thoughts.

He decided on the latter; lifting the raven-haired woman up slightly and depositing her head on his chest. His arms twined round her waist. He closed his eyes again, his face burrowing into her hair.

"Why does your hair always smell nice?" he asked. "Mine always smells like sulphur or grease or... greasy sulphur."

He laughed softly and she smiled at him; one of her rare bright smiles.

"Now that's what I like to see," he told her, "I haven't seen that in a while."

A cloud floated over her face, "Well, I have very little reason to smile right now."

"Come on," he jostled her, "what could be that bad?"

Her face fell again and she simply said, "Uther."

"And what has our king done to upset you now," he said in a vaguely teasing tone.

Instead of responding in kind, she gave him an impatient look, rolled out of bed and pulled her cloak around her ornate nightgown.

"Morgana...?"

"I should get back to my own rooms," she said flatly, "Malcolm will be here soon and the poor boy nearly faints if I'm here in the morning."

"Morgana, please. Come back to bed. Or at least... at least tell me what's wrong."

She paused and turned back to him.

"A family got lost in the woods a few days ago."

"Ok."

"They were coming to Camelot to trade and they accidentally left the path in the rain. They were wet and lost and so they were grateful when they found help. From some local Druids."

"Oh."

"Oh? Merlin? That's all you have to say. Oh?"

"What happened?"

"When the brave and noble Knights of Camelot raided a ramshackle farmhouse in the middle of nowhere to root out the _evil sorcerers_? What do you think happened?"

Merlin closed his eyes briefly before fixing them on her again. "Is he executing them all?"

"Oh no," Morgana said angrily, "you see, the Druids actually _were_ sorcerers so of course they escaped. Now he's interrogating the traders to find out who their _accomplices_ were."

Merlin sighed, "I'll talk to Uther this morning and see if I can stop the torture at the least."

"And yet another assertive reaction from Camelot's greatest warlock. Is that what you'll say when their battered bodies are swinging in the main square like slabs of meat."

"Morgana," he said, "what do you want me to do?"

"_Something_," she said bluntly. "Surely together we could..."

"You're right," he agreed with her, "we'll do something. But I need to think. Consider the consequences."

"Damn the consequences. These people are guilty of nothing but needing a damn roof over their head."

"And I will come up with a plan and we will rescue them," Merlin told her. "There's still some Druids left that we can send them too. It'll work out."

"And what about the next ones?" she asked him, calming down slightly. "Merlin? What about the next ones?"

"The next ones we'll help as well. We'll always help them."

She dipped her chin, dissatisfied and pulled the hood of her cloak over her long straight hair. She looked at him as though she wanted to continue the argument.

"I have to go," she said instead, "we have a celebration tonight and I have a lot of work to do."

"Morgana, please."

She sighed, "I understand Merlin. And if it's not as if getting rid of Uther will achieve anything. It'll just make Arthur believe that everything his father told him about evil sorcerers were true."

Merlin gave her a measured look and nodded his agreement.

She looked at him lying there for a moment, opened her mouth as if to say something and then simply left the room.


	89. Chapter 89

**Cracks **

**Part 2**

It was not, she thought, that she didn't even know where the bodies were buried.

It was not even that Uther had looked harrowed through it all as though he actually cared about the dozens he lined up and shot for the crime of no longer being ill.

It was not that she knew, deep down in her bones, that this was her fault although she had no idea how it was possible. Somehow, she'd accessed the magic in her dreams and it had flown out to do her will; to heal. How could healing ever be wrong?

When all those who were given her reprieve were slaughtered the very next day.

It was that Merlin, her Merlin, had sensed the magic and he knew it was her. Knew she'd been involved somehow. She'd railed against his extreme cautiousness. He'd been understanding of her determined need for action. Until today.

She sat in his chambers pretending to read but staring instead at the side of his bowed head.

He did not look up.


	90. Chapter 90

**Cracks **

**Part 3**

Morgana paused outside his chambers, marshalled her thoughts and slowly opened the door. She'd thought out her arguments, analysed her logic, made a determination to remain calm and now she set out to do battle.

"My Lady." Malcolm was cleaning the chambers when she walked in but he stopped to bow and then excused himself.

Merlin raised his head from his work, stood up and came over to kiss her. She responded in kind and only broke it off when she realised the moment was changing into something entirely different.

"I want to speak with you, if you're not too busy," she said.

"Of course," he said, looking only momentarily disappointed. He gathered up his papers and put them away in a drawer.

"Are you working on Arthur's underground?"

He smiled, "Yes. I'd already done some initial planning of course but hadn't devoted too much time to it. Now that Arthur supports it, it will go ahead.

He looked at her affectionately, "I'm going to sound like you but it does feel good to be doing something even if it's only a short-term measure."

"Short-term? How so?"

"Well, getting those who are magic - but not dangerous - out of Uther's reach is only necessary while he still rules. Once he's no longer king then they can come back. Or not. As they choose. At least they'll be alive to make a choice."

"And you don't think that finding a way to get rid of Uther is the better plan?"

"Morgana," he said tiredly.

"I'm not suggesting it, Merlin. I'm just asking you to consider it as an option."

"Of course it would be better if Uther were no longer king, especially if his death were natural, but..."

"...or were made to seem natural? We don't have to use magic and the people don't need to know it was murder. Kings have been removed that way before."

"_We'd_ know, Morgana," he argued. "We'd be murderers. Lord knows I've been tempted before. But I was a child before. I'm not a child now. I couldn't look Arthur in the eye again if I killed his father."

"I guess I couldn't either," she admitted. "I guess that would be the one thing that would be unforgiveable."

"Cold-blooded murder? Yes. However... emotionally satisfying it may seem in theory... it's wrong. Besides, we have influence over him. Both you and I. He is far more malleable now than he used to be. Influence can be just as important sometimes."

"Fine, then. If we cannot rid the victims of their tyrant then we rid the tyrant of his victims. I want to help."

"Ok," he said, as though the thought had genuinely not occurred to him before. "You obviously have something in mind or you wouldn't be here being so... reasonable."

She quelled the small shot of anger at that and smiled instead, trying to remain, as he put it, _reasonable_. She still made a mental note of it for later.

"This underground... you need somebody to run it, somebody to organise it. Somebody Uther won't suspect. I want to be that person."

He paused for a moment and she thought he might actually be considering the proposal until he said, "No."

"No! That's it? Merlin, I manage on a day-to-day basis the smooth running of an entire castle. I think I can manage this."

"It's not a question of capability, Morgana. It's not," he insisted when she looked sceptical, "it's about exposure. You and me, we all lead back to Arthur. We need somebody we can trust and who can take the fall alone if they're caught. I won't... I won't sacrifice you like that."

"But I _want_ to be that person, Merlin. I want to help. I need to help. Uther could already put me to death right now for a hundred things I've done. Or at least he could try. I'm not a terrified little seer anymore."

"But if you were caught..."

"You think I'm such a coward that I would expose Arthur's involvement? Is that honestly what you think of me?"

"Of course not. I think that if you were caught you would have to leave. You may even get hurt and I... I just don't want that."

"So, our relationship is more important than people's lives," she snapped.

"No, that's not..." he stopped and took a breath to calm himself, "Morgana, Lancelot and Arthur's... point of contention... is well known. If he were discovered, Uther would be far less likely to suspect..."

"Lancelot! You can't be serious. He has no magic, no position, no title, no influence..."

"He doesn't need them," Merlin interjected forcefully. "All of that is mine. He will simply utilise them."

"He's not even in Camelot," she pointed out.

"Once the details are worked out on our end and Dealthia is...:"

"Deathia! You can't be..."

"...and Dealthia is ready on hers, then I'll send Arthur to get Lancelot. Convince him to come back to Camelot."

"Merlin," she said, walking up to him angrily, "you and I are supposed to be partners. In all things. If you leave me out of this when I could actually make a difference... when you've recruited _her_..."

"She's far in the north, influential in the court and her estates are well-protected. Even if her king discovered her involvement, she wouldn't be in the kind of danger..."

"And she's less erratic, is that right? More reliable?"

"Morgana, please, don't make this about..."

"She'll be in just as much danger as I would! If Uther discovered she was involved, how long do you think it'll take him to link her back to you?"

"The answer's no, Morgana," he said, finality echoing in his voice. "I won't risk you. That's all there is to it."

"Well, I'm sorry you had to fall in love with somebody so precious, Merlin. I hope I don't disappoint you too much when I eventually break like some crystal bauble."

She picked up the glass paperweight he kept on his table and threw it angrily against the fireplace where it smashed and fell among the embers.

"Look, there I go. Poor Morgana. Guess she wasn't well enough protected."

"Morgana, please."

"No!" And she heard the wood of the door slam satisfyingly when she stormed out of the room.


	91. Chapter 91

**Cracks **

**Part 4**

"Did you really suggest that Arthur marry Jaquelyn?" she asked him. "Gwen's upset. You're supposed to be her friend."

"I know," he said, obviously dispirited. "He wouldn't listen anyway. Sometimes I don't know..."

She took a bite of dinner and chewed it slowly, waiting for him to find the words. He seemed almost defeated this evening although she couldn't quite understand why.

He threw his cutlery onto his plate, gestured to Malcolm to take it away and put his head in his hands.

"I just can't see a way to stop somebody getting hurt."

"Merlin, that's not your job," she said. "You're supposed to be his Advisor. Your job is to tell him what's best for the kingdom."

"Well, I tried. He didn't listen."

"You always do this, you know? You spend so much time trying to make everything perfect, everybody happy, that in the end nobody is happy with anything. Least of all you."

"Can we not have this argument now? Please."

"I'm not trying to argue with you. I'm trying to help you realise that your job requires hard decisions. And, sometimes, instinct rather than intellect."

"You really think I don't know that? You think I don't make hard decisions? Is that what you really believe?"

She looked at him somewhat helplessly, unable to see what he was so upset about.

"Just talk to me. What's wrong?"

He gave her a somewhat bleak look. "I'm tired."

And he stood up and went to bed.


	92. Chapter 92

**Cracks **

**Part 5**

Morgana stormed into Merlin's chambers, slamming the door behind her.

Merlin looked up from the book he was annotating and gave her a worried look.

"Morga..."

"Did you know about this?" she demanded, fury radiating off her in waves. He could feel her magic flying out from her as well; books began to throw themselves off the shelves and his small shaving mirror cracked suddenly, the smashing sound echoing through his rooms.

"Did I know about what? Morgana, what happened?"

"Did you know," she enunciated each syllable precisely as though he were a simpleton, "that if Arthur and Gwen got married then Uther would want me to marry some Prince from some northern Kingdom I've never even heard of?"

"Oh," said Merlin quietly and shut the book.

"Yes, Merlin, 'oh'. So? Answer me!"

"I didn't realise it would be so soon."

"You can't be serious," she spit. "So, it's fine for me to be bartered off like a prize fucking heifer just as long as it's within a suitable _time period_."

"No," he protested, "that's not what I meant. I just meant... we always knew he'd want you to marry someone else and..."

"And what?" she interrupted him. "And what?"

She picked up a goblet, a small trickle of wine in the bottom, and threw it at his head. He ducked and the glass smashed against wall, the red liquid boarding down it like blood.

"Morgana, I know... I mean... this is not what I want. Of course it's not. I told Arthur he should marry Jaquelyn. He refused."

"Three years, Merlin," she spluttered angrily. "Three damn years."

She swung around to the door, opened it as if to hurl herself out and then turned back to him, a furious expression on her face.

"Vidor asked me to marry him. On bended knee. At least he understands chivalry."

And she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her as she went.


	93. Chapter 93

**Cracks **

**Part 6**

It was such a small thing. He would never know. It was one of many arguments that she refused to have these days, tired of throwing china and feeding the court's gossips.

They were leaving for Mercia soon but she had decided to stay in Ealdor with Hunith. How she longed to see her again; feel the gentle balm of her company. She had never had a mother; did not know many people who did. In her mind, they were Hunith. All of them.

She knew she had a tendency to jealousy. It was the impulse she was determined to reign in like the unbroken horse it was. It was one thing to fight about kingdoms and magic and the death of innocents. It was another to throw things at his head over Dealthia or Jaquelyn; both of whom she liked anyway.

But Amelia?

She sat in her chambers and fumed.


	94. Chapter 94

**Cracks **

**Part 7**

She knew this story. She'd read it before.

Something happened. Sometimes it was magical and evil and had to be stopped to save the lives of innocents whose only crime was living in Camelot. Sometimes it wasn't. It didn't seem to matter these days.

And Uther - older, greyer, madder - decreed a response that was disproportionate at best and at worst nearer than ever to insanity.

They worked quietly: the odd escape from prison or an investigation that found the real culprit – or that there was no 'culprit' at all.

And as his grief and impotence over Kilgharrah's attack dissipated, Uther was more like himself and less like a crazed madman. But atrocities still blossomed and grew over Camelot in numbers never before seen.

With Lancelot's death, the underground had shuddered to a halt and they hadn't had the resources to restart it again. Kilgharrah's damage – both to Camelot and the people within its walls – required repair and all their resources were devoted to that.

As men climbed determinedly over Camelot's scaffolding, so Morgana tested the structures currently supporting her and Merlin's relationship; watching it be rebuilt, slowly, along with the kingdom. She marvelled every day that he seemed to so completely forgive her for her betrayal; for her own atrocity. His father had said that Uther begat himself. She wouldn't have understood that a few months ago. But now... she had been Uther for one mad moment. She hadn't realised that it would be so easy.

And so, when the story began again - the same old horrible show replaying from the beginning to Uther's final bitter act of cruelty - she opened her mouth to remonstrate with him to _do something_.

And then shut it again.


	95. Chapter 95

**So, having completed Cracks and thereby written myself into a miserable depressive funk that required several weeks of intensive alcohol consumption and episodes of True Blood (it's like a soap but with nakedness and my oblivious Swedish boyfriend, Alexander Skaarsgaad) I am back with the last few chapters of ALiM. I know my readers will be glad: assuming that they haven't run off and slit their wrists.**

* * *

**Schemes**

This time the message was not intercepted. This time the message was part of the plan.

_Merlin, _it began_, I know it has been many years since we last saw each other. Much has happened in that time. Much that I can barely speak of. You will not be aware of this but I once sent you a plea: a plea that you help me as you once did when I was a boy. I was alone, Merlin. Young and alone and terribly scared and I called out in that dark night to you. But you didn't hear. That was my plea._

_A plea that I recently discovered was intercepted by a sorcerer named Morgause. She wished to recruit me for her own ends and I'm ashamed to admit that she succeeded for a while. I thought she was the only one who cared. I should have trusted more in what I knew of you._

_I joined her in her plotting of Camelot's downfall. I joined her against you and against Arthur because I believed you had forsaken me and because Uther's reign seemed to last for an eternity. Months seem like decades when one is young, Merlin. I know that you understand that. I know you understand too what it is like to be magical in the world we were born in. I needed to breathe, Merlin. I could never fathom how you could hold your breath this long._

_And yet... it is strange how quickly things in one's life can change. A slip, a small misspoken phrase, a conversation overheard and the world we believe in turns on its head._

_Unwittingly, Morgause herself has helped me understand the awful truth. Not only did she intercept and destroy my plea to you but she also conspires to kill you and your King to bring about her agenda for your Kingdom. It was she who drove Morgana to the act you cannot forgive. Now she schemes behind her sister's back for she knows that Morgana is not enough her pawn to ever countenance this plan, to ever countenance your death._

_Merlin, believe me when I say that I too could never tolerate a plan that brought you harm. I wish magic to be returned to the land but not at this price. We cannot overthrow evil with evil. We cannot defeat murderers with murder. I know this deep within my veins. I know that you believe this too. _

_I send this to you this evening with someone I trust. I hope, I pray, that when I once again stand on the borders of Camelot that you will be there to greet me as an old friend. This is my plea. Once again I ask you, beg even (though it does not fit well with my temperament), give me safe refuge in Camelot. Let me serve. I am a noble son of a noble family - on my mother's side at least. I can do you proud. I can be a son of Camelot._

_Your friend, Mordred_

He signed the letter with a final flourish and looked up in anticipation of his family's reaction.

"It's perfect," Morgause said, her gold eyes flashing in the shadowed tent. Candlelight was her friend in a way her more pallid relations could only envy.

"It's perfect," Morgana agreed. And she sprinkled the letter with sand and smiled. And if that smile was tinged somewhat with fortitude and sadness, none was looking at her to see.


	96. Chapter 96

**Ambivalence**

The black-haired boy, tall for his age and with bright blue eyes, gurgled happily and pelted unsteadily across the cabin's packed dirt floor.

The maid, whose name Merlin had almost instantly forgotten, scooped him up and gave his wet, sticky face a kiss.

"Mama," he called suddenly and lurched himself unexpectedly at Morgana.

"Mama's here," she whispered to him lovingly, bringing him into her arms and laughing when he gave her a moist noisy kiss on her cheek.

Merlin smiled; his intention to remain angry at his son's mother shifting a little in spite of himself.

It had been his plan to meet in the cabin. It seemed appropriate, if not a little ironic. It was the place in which he had made what he had come to think of as his biggest mistake; forgiving Morgana after she released the dragon. Seeing her again - knowing how he'd inevitably react to her – he'd felt he needed the reminder.

Morgana looked at him over the little boy's wayward curls, walked over and gave the chubby infant to his father. He pulled him into his arms and tried to not feel clumsy and uncertain about holding his son.

"Hello Gaius," he whispered, "you probably don't remember me. I'm your father."

"Da da da," Gaius said in response, his plump arm banging Merlin's head companionably.

Merlin felt a strange lurch of love at the gesture; holding the boy closer to hide his response.

"One of the advantages of being a great witch in a place where it is allowed is that I can scry him images of his father," Morgana told him, slightly defensively he thought. "At least, when the spell isn't blocked."

He paused for a moment, his mind racing with the possible meanings of that statement. Was it genuine annoyance? Sadness? A determination to pick one of their old fights? He had been protecting Camelot with stronger magical shields lately. A manipulation to twist him into lowering the shield for an attack?

"Don't give me that look, Merlin. That wasn't some reproof or an attempt to convince you to lower your guard. It's a simple matter of fact."

"Sorry," he said genuinely, kissing his son's forehead and clasping his arms sturdily around him. "Old habits die hard."

"Apparently only some of them," she said lightly. "Clarine has set a picnic up outside if you're hungry. Gaius needs to be fed."

"Is he on solid food already?"

"Merlin, he's 16 months. If anything, I waited longer than usual to start weaning him."

"Sixteen months already? Wow. That's... time just... wow. Doesn't that make his speech a little delayed?"

"A little. He's a bit of a... a quiet observer though. He didn't crawl and I was a bit worried. But then one day... up and across the room like he'd been walking for months. I think the speech thing is like that. One day he's going to come up and just... deliver an impassioned argument on why I should give him more cheese." She reached up and gently tucked her son's hair back from his face. "He does love his cheese."

Merlin laughed and stroked Gaius' head, "Just like your namesake, hey little man? Just watching the world and learning every minute. And hoping for cheese."

Morgana gave him an uncertain look and then said, "I'm sorry, Merlin. About Gaius. I should have said... last time I was in Camelot. I should have said how sorry I was. But..."

"Morgana, if you want this visit to be civil, I suggest you don't speak of what happened last time you were in Camelot."

"Of course."

"But thank you. For Gaius. He was old and his time was come. Still, I..." He paused, unable to find the words to express how much he missed his mentor.

"I know. Me too. He was a wonderful old man."

"He would have been so proud that you named our son after him."

"I wanted a name that would define him," she explained, "a name that would put him in the future, not the past. Gaius was always... well ahead of his time. If we were all men like him, war and pain and torture would not exist. There would just be..."

"... joy in the wonder of the world and a search for fulfilment through knowledge and the care of others," Merlin finished for her.

"Exactly. Scholarship. Intellect. Peace."

They smiled at each other and he found himself drifting back into a not-so-distant past. He wrenched himself back to the present and schooled his features.

"So, lunch?"

She nodded and they went outside to the woods where the maid had set up a blanket and laid out some food.

Merlin looked up the path and remembered with a gut-wrenching shock the last time he'd been there.

Morgana saw the look and reached out to touch his hand before catching herself and letting it fall back down by her side.

"They're still there. Those little carvings. I saw them when we came through. Untouched and unweathered. I think they may last forever."

"I cast a spell on them I think. I think it was instinct."

"It's strange when that happens, doesn't it?"

Merlin just nodded, a cloud gliding over his face, and they sat down in the bright summer sunshine to have something to eat. Gaius started bounding in excitement when he saw the spread and pelted away from them on determined little legs as soon as he could; barrelling through the plates and making chicken and salad fly.

"Gaius," they both yelled and Clarine scooped him up and delivered him back to his laughing parents.

"Gaius," Morgana scolded him, trying with effort to be censorious and not at all amused. "We eat food. We don't walk on it."

Gaius just grinned at her cheekily and began pointing out the dishes he wanted to eat.

"He may have gotten his namesake's temperament but unfortunately he got your love of food."

"Why is that unfortunate?" Merlin feigned offence, "Food is good. Isn't that right, Gaius. Repeat after me. Food is good."

"Food is good," said the little boy clearly. "Food is good," he repeated happily as his parents hugged him in congratulations.

Then he pointed at the chicken on the blanket wordlessly, obviously deciding he'd exhausted his need for expression at least for that day.

"How is Mordred?" Morgana asked him, as she gathered a plate of food for their son.

Merlin shot her a suspicious look but decided not to ruin the mood. He was here to see his son not to fight old battles with his former lover.

"Mordred is doing well. He is a Knight of Camelot and of the Round Table. The court seems to like his quiet reserve."

"I'm glad," Morgana said thoughtfully, "I was concerned they might perceive his reserve as arrogance."

"Not at all. He's a good man. Always was. He just... fell into bad company," Merlin said, somewhat pointedly.

Morgana ignored the barb and instead noted, "I'm just happy he's found a place where he's so respected. Thank you for taking him in. He believed you would. I wasn't so sure."

"He'd done nothing unforgivable as far as I was aware. Arthur was the one who needed more assurances. Mordred has proven himself."

Merlin gave her an appraising look and pushed his hair back from his eyes. "Morgana," he ventured, "why..."

He stopped himself. He knew the answer to the question. After what she'd done, he could not allow himself to believe she wasn't capable of being implicated in any of Morgause's plans. He'd even considered that installing Mordred in Camelot had been part of those plans. But try as he might he could not see the end game of the boy giving them years of sincere and loyal work in defending the Kingdom.

She looked at him, green eyes bright in the midday sun, but didn't ask him to finish his question. Finished eating, Gaius had flopped himself down between his parents and fallen fast asleep.

They sat there for a while in surprisingly companionable silence, finally joining their son in sleep. When they woke in the heat of late afternoon to find Clarine and their son gone for a walk, they almost didn't ask why they made love again.

As the maid returned, he kissed his son goodbye and left for Camelot without a word. Morgana looked at the dilapidated cottage and then slid her hand surprised across her belly; feeling the new spark of life inside her.

"What's your name, little girl?" she whispered to the stirring consciousness. "Ade? That was my mother's name. Someone in this world should know that."

And she packed up her son and left.


	97. Chapter 97

**Rebellion**

Gwen heaved herself up the stairs, cursing her size with every cold stone step. In her second pregnancy, her body seemed to be reciting its progress through memory, like a child's lessons learned well the day before. She'd put on twice the weight in half the time and was now lumbering around the castle like some sort of awkward sea creature stuck on land.

She reached the top with a breath of deep relief and rested for a moment in the alcove that overlooked the parapet. This mission to the ramparts was her first attempt to see her husband since nausea and sheer weariness had led her to confine herself a few weeks before.

She'd emerged from her sickbed to find guards thronging the corridors, citizens being searched in the streets and her husband apparently unavailable. The last had angered her considerably and so she'd demanded his whereabouts from some of the more-malleable members of the court and had then braved the stairs to see him.

"Typical," she muttered to herself as she got her breath back. "Just typical. I'm supposed to be a member of Camelot's advisory council and the round table . Heaven forbid someone should tell me we're in the middle of a rebellion."

She attacked the final staircase with more determination than strength and finally threw open the door to the battlements just as the late afternoon sun was causing everyone to squint.

"Guinevere," Arthur said, managing to convey concern, annoyance and pleasure in one word as only the married could do.

"Yes, Arthur, I still exist. Did you forget?"

"Of course not, Gwennie, I just... you were so sick this time around I didn't want to worry you."

"Worry me? Heaven forbid one of your Advisory Council should be _worried. _Of course it never occurred to you that I could help."

Arthur's mouth moved several times as he tried to think of an appropriate response.

Merlin, standing to the side of his liege, shot Gwen an amused look – the first she'd seen in a long time – and then put his arm on Arthur's.

"We'll repair to the Solar, Arthur, if that's alright with you. We'll meet you there later.

"Trust me," he continued in a whisper, "you can't win this one. And she _is_ the Queen. I can't believe you didn't tell her what was going on. Just fill her in and get her advice. And please, by the Gods, don't mention her pregnancy to support any arguments about _anything_. She may kill you and we do need you right now."

Arthur nodded slightly and then turned to Gwen who was trying to maintain her anger in the face of Merlin's amusement. He used his hands to quickly sign a rough R and a P as he left the parapet; a gesture they'd long ago devised that meant Arthur was being his usual royal prattish self and she shouldn't, for example, murder him.

"Well?" she said.

Arthur gestured to a chair, "Would you like to sit? For the normal sake of politeness I mean and absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you're... um..."

"Fat?"

"Is that better than pregnant?"

"Arthur!"

"Well, can I sit? I've been standing for hours."

"Of course. If that's the case, we'll both sit. For the normal sake of politeness, of course."

"Thank the Gods," he muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. So, I'm sorry Gwen. I should have filled you in. It all just got out of control so quickly."

"What did? What on Earth happened?"

He closed his eyes and breathed cool air into his lungs. He was tired, she realised. More than tired. Exhausted.

"I did exactly what Merlin told me not to. But after all these years I just... I'm King now and... damnit, I should behave like one but... Merlin said that we shouldn't change the law too quickly. But what else have we been working towards? I thought he was just being overly-cautious for my sake. The other knights agreed with me. Mordred, of course, but the others too."

"You rescinded the laws on magic?" Gwen deduced. "All of them? At once? Arthur, how could you make a decision like that without me?"

"Guinevere, I honestly thought this was a decision we _all_ made many years ago. This was the plan."

"Thirty years of Uther's reign and you tried to change that overnight? Three-quarters of our population were born after the purge. I'm one of them. All they've known for thirty years is that magic is evil."

"Gwen, you have to understand... the Northern Kingdoms..."

"I think that I, of all people, am well aware of the issues with the Northern Kingdoms."

"Of course. Of course. But we had to send them a sign that we're serious about reform. That now my father is gone we're no longer a threat to the way they want to live their lives."

Gwen leaned back against the stone and closed her eyes for a moment.

"How bad is the rebellion?"

"Domestically, it's manageable. At least it's manageable so far. Mostly disaffected young men and scared housewives. So far the guards have remained loyal. But many of them have told me that they have done that only because I'm Arthur Pendragon and not because they agree with me."

"And further afield?"

"Olaf is talking war. Mercia may join him."

"Mercia?"

"Unfortunately, Merlin tried to warn me about that too but I thought he was misreading the situation. I thought he was being pessimistic. After all, Mercia has been our ally for more than ten years. Why would they attack."

"Because... they're angry that you forced them to change their laws on magic and then turned around and relaxed ours much more than theirs ever were?"

"I did try to get them on board beforehand. They were upset but... quietly upset. I didn't think..."

He sighed, "I made a mess of things Gwen."

"Arthur," she leaned forward and took his hand, "you have a round table for a reason. You just told me all of your advisors bar one – oh, and the one you never bothered to talk to about this issue but we'll come back to that another time – supported this action. What would be the point of this new style of governing if you were to overrule them everytime Merlin gave you conflicting advice?"

"One where there aren't riots in the streets?"

"You don't know that. There are magical people out there who have been waiting for you to succeed your father. How do you know they wouldn't be rioting in the streets if you _hadn't_ relaxed these laws?"

"Gwen, you wanted to be consulted like a Queen. Don't back down now and be my wife instead."

She sat back, dropped his hand and straightened her spine. "Very well. Relaxation of the laws was always our intent. But you should have been more circumspect, Arthur, you should have done it slowly. Subtlety is an art form you have never mastered. Merlin has it and you should have listened to him. And me. I am your Queen and you should never have forgotten that.

"Now that you've created the situation it would be suicide for you to back down completely. All you'll do is punish those who've had faith in you for all these years. But you will need to rescind the bulk of the new laws. Sit down with Merlin and work out those that are the most palatable. My advice, reinstate the ones about actual use of magic and give people the ones that impact innocent bystanders – harbouring, association, that sort of thing. Then, in a while, once things have settled down, we'll take Mercia's path and start small. An amnesty for hedge witches and other small scale healers. Those that do no harm."

Arthur looked pensive for a moment and then nodded his agreement. He smiled wryly and took her hand.

"Thank you, Guinevere. I was a fool to try to do this without you. You were just so sick... I was worried."

"I'm pregnant, Arthur, not sick. Forget that again and _I'll_ stop taking Merlin's advice... the one about regicide. Now, on that note... do you need a divorce?"

"Excuse me." Arthur gave a start at the non sequiter.

"A divorce, Arthur. Merlin's right about the Northern Kingdoms. I realised that a long time ago but I chose to be selfish. And Lord knows you and I have had our problems. You have an heir and that's the most important thing. You can still marry Jaquelyn and get her father's intercession with his allies in the north."

"No," Arthur said.

"Arthur, be realistic..."

"No!"

"You and I would still be together. And Jaquelyn might be good for Merlin now that Morgana's chosen to save the world or whatever the hell she thinks she's doing."

"Guinevere, I'm only going to say this one more time. Yes, we've had our problems. But I married you. That's all there is to it. The answer's no."

"Arthur, I wouldn't be surprised if half the people rioting believed me unfaithful anyway. I was too grieved when Lancelot died. There's gossip. You can place these laws on my head and then they can dance in the streets at you marrying a noblewoman from a wealthy Kingdom."

"Gwen..."

"I don't want to be the one blamed for this Kingdom falling," she said, "not when I could do something to help."

"No one would blame you, Gwen. How could one woman bring down a Kingdom? That's madness. If Camelot falls, it will be my failure. Not yours. And trust me, this kingdom has braved endless threats for years and stood the test. We won't fail now."

Gwen smiled unconvincingly and slid her hands around her increasing belly.

"I hope that's true," she said. "I really do."


	98. Chapter 98

**Dissonance**

The full moon floated large near the horizon; throwing an unearthly glow across the stony clearing. Morgana thought it was appropriate: if one was to conspire than the eerie forest seemed to provide the perfect backdrop.

A twig snapped and she turned to the sound as Mordred stepped out of the gloom.

"Morgana," he said with obvious affection. He took a few long strides into the moonlight glade and wrapped his arms around her despite his natural dislike of physical contact. Obvious affection was something both he and his Aunt reserved for a certain few.

"It's good to see you," Morgana told him.

"And you," he agreed.

"How goes things in Camelot? I've been concerned since I got your message. It's a risk meeting like this."

"I know," Mordred sighed "but I have bad news. I'm afraid I've made a mistake. And a considerable one."

"Have you been discovered?" Morgana asked him, anxiously.

"No. That's not… my position in the Court is assured. I have ingratiated myself with those are, and more importantly those that will be, influential. Should something happen to Arthur before his son is able to take the throne I'm confident I can seize power."

"That's not the plan, Mordred," Morgana told him, a sharp edge on her voice, "At least not the main plan. Yes, you have a claim to the throne through your grandmother. But that is a contingency to be kept for _if_ our other schemes fail."

"I'm aware of that," Mordred interrupted.

"Now that Uther's too-long reign is over," Morgana continued as though he hadn't spoken, "you're supposed to be pushing Arthur to be the king he should be. You're supposed to be positioning yourself to be the advisor Merlin is too loyal to be. Not just to Arthur but to the next King."

"As I said," Mordred told her flatly, "As I've been trying to say, I've made a mistake."

Morgana paused, nodded and gestured at him to continue.

"Arthur wanted to relax the laws on magic. Completely. It's everything we've worked for."

"Completely?" Morgana exclaimed, "That's more than we could have asked for."

"Merlin opposed it. That is, he wanted reform to move more slowly. I convinced Arthur, as I have been increasingly able to do, that Merlin's advice was tainted by his love for his King. That he wanted too much to protect him and that was why his counsel should no longer be trusted so implicitly."

"I see no mistake so far."

"There was a rebellion over the sudden relaxation of the laws. Olaf was forming an alliance to attack. Arthur backed down and now the laws are back in force. Even Merlin's gradual timetable would have given us more progress."

"Damn it!" Morgana swore. She turned her back to him for a moment and began to pace the clearing. "What can be done," she muttered, "All my and Morgause's work in the other Kingdoms… all this time. Camelot is the linchpin. Without it…"

"Morgana, I now do not believe that we will ever see the kind of reform we want from Camelot, at least not while we breathe. This is too much of a setback. I believe we have only two options. War. Or assassination."

"Never." Morgana said as she swung back toward him. "And I am tired of hearing this from you, Mordred. Don't make me repeat myself. We will reshape this world through influence and coercion. Not through war. Or murder."

"It will take too long," he said belligerently.

"And who will fight this war? Let me tell you this as someone who knows. War will do nothing but kill the people we are trying to save."

"Then… assassination…"

"Kill Arthur? His baby son? His unborn child? No."

She took a breath and calmed herself.

"You have the influence. Arthur's ear. You're better off convincing him that the best way to stop the dissension in his Kingdom is to step aside and appoint a regent… if not you than someone like Yvain. Kind-hearted. Malleable."

"Yvain is a fool."

"Yvain is no fool. Unless you think the Knightly virtues to be foolish."

"Of course not. It's just… I could take power now and we could use magic to put down dissent."

Morgana struggled for a moment with her temper before taking a few calculated steps toward him.

"Listen to me carefully, Mordred. I will say this to you only one more time. To use magic to oppress the citizens of Camelot would make us so much like Uther that he may as well still be living. Merlin, Arthur, Guinevere and her children remain untouched. If we overthrow Arthur, it is to be through strategy _not_ bloodshed. I have done what was necessary regarding the latter. That time has passed. The former is now non-negotiable.

"Are we Alvarr? Nimueh? We kill rabbits, Mordred, we do not hunt fawns."

Mordred look momentarily displeased and rebellious but finally nodded and moved back into the forest. He waited in the shaded gloom until Morgana had gone and the moved back into the clearing.

With a burst of light, his mother appeared; her hair turned silver by the harvest moon.

"Did you hear that?" he asked her angrily.

She nodded calmly and touched her son's cheek for a moment.

"She's right, my son. For now. It's not the time for such atrocity. You must be patient and let our plans play out."

He gave her the rebellious look he'd held back from his Aunt.

"And if things are unchanged in a year? Two years? Ten? What are the limits of my patience? I've been patient since I watched my father murdered. I was eleven."

"I understand," Morgause said, "but do you understand Morgana? These are her friends. She does not want them hurt."

"I agreed not to harm _Emrys_," Mordred argued, "not Uther's son or Uther's grandchildren. Emrys is my friend: for all his faults a great man. Arthur is not. I don't want to hurt anybody but if it is the choice between that and real change then..."

"Don't worry," Morgause reassured him, "My sister may see assassination as non-negotiable. I see it more as… an unfortunate last resort. Great Kingdoms have been founded on more violent acts. If Camelot's rulers cannot be changed than they should be replaced. You have a claim to the throne through your grandmother. If that day comes then other, more legitimate, heirs would be… inconvenient."

Mordred inclined his head in acknowledgement and briefly touched his mother's hand.

"I'm sorry to be so impatient," he told her, "but I have been so powerless for so long. Apart from Emrys I am the most powerful sorcerer in the land. I want to be able to use that power. To have had an enemy but to not be able to strike at them…"

"In that at least we are all in agreement, my son. Now, we have been here too long. You must return to Camelot."

Mordred gave her a quick and perfunctory embrace and then melted back into the gloom of the forest again.


	99. Chapter 99

**A/N So, I know that many of you feel that you're watching a train wreck in slow motion right now. Just so we're all on the same page... that's because you are... Out of curiosity, is it better when the train finally crashes or worse?**

* * *

**Unforgivable**

Uther opened his eyes and looked at the ornate ceiling of his lavish bedroom. He lay there for a moment wondering if he could really stay in bed that day. Or any day. He felt old this morning. He felt old a lot lately.

Partly it was age; the injuries from the dragon's attack not having healed as well as when he was young. Partly it was his new propensity for insomnia, which his physician assured him was natural for someone of his years. Partly it was Gaius' death and the unremitting youth and enthusiasm of his aforementioned very young, albeit highly competent, physician.

Malcolm made him sleeping draughts every night and, while they worked for several hours, once they wore off he woke again to the dark of night and its lack of distractions.

Thirty years he'd been King. More or less. Thirty years and he still fought the same old battles endlessly. Magic, which should have been annihilated by now, persisted despite every effort he'd made to keep his people and his Kingdom safe from its influence.

Bandits gathered under the rebel Alvarr; the bastard child who should have been killed so many years ago drew magic vermin to her like some demonic piper; and somehow so many of those he had watched carefully all these years had escaped him overnight. He'd tasked Arthur with tracking them down but he'd had no luck. The magic running free.

He sighed and closed his eyes again, wondering if the litany of his failures would stop replaying if he could just get some sleep. Perhaps his lack of sleep was caused by magic? Perhaps they attacked him even here? Malcolm assured him that they didn't. Did he trust Malcolm? After Morgana's betrayal, did he trust anyone anymore?

No, he assured himself, Malcolm was not a traitor. Merlin trusted Malcolm. Arthur did too. His son and his devoted, fiendishly-clever servant. These he trusted. They had served him well, done him proud, for so many years. Hiring Merlin was, in retrospect, one of the few decisions he'd made that had truly borne fruit. Who would have thought a rough and tumble village lad could have been such a gem in the rough? That his own ward - more a daughter - could turn her back on him while Merlin who loved her could stay strong by his side...

That was loyalty.

That gave him the strength to get out of bed in the morning.

He threw back the covers and placed his tired legs on the cold stone floor. His man, with the telepathy Uther demanded of those who served him, slid silently through the door at the right moment and dressed him in the silent respect expected of those of his station.

By the time he made his way to the table to break his fast, he was feeling much his usual self and even in a relatively good mood. He sat down, piled his plate with bread, ham and fish and then noticed that Merlin was there and, as usual, reading.

"Really, Merlin," he addressed his son's advisor with some affection, "you are allowed to take a moment for breakfast."

"Um?" Merlin grunted vaguely before returning his attention to the book. It was, Uther saw, a transcribed version of an ancient Greek physician.

"Where on Earth did you find that?" Uther asked him curiously.

"Jaquelyn sent it to me. She received it from a friend in France who inherited it from a relative in Venice. Relative's grandfather was given it as a gift from an Arab trader he did business with in Tunisia fifty years ago."

"By the Gods, that's extraordinary. I admit I don't understand your fascination with books, Merlin, but that history would tempt even me. Gaius would be jealous."

Merlin smiled at that, "Yes, he would. Say what you want about the new religions but if it wasn't for the Arabs we would have lost much of our history when Rome fell. Books like this are a testament to their scholarship, not ours."

Uther shook his head and spooned some fish into his mouth, "You have a strange way of looking at the world, Merlin. You're very lucky I like you."

The younger man gave him a strange look, "Yes, Sire. I know."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I'm due in the throne room. Something about a petition?"

"Yes, Sire, you and me both. Arthur is patrolling the eastern border and asked me to sit in his place."

"Anything I should worry about?"

"Not at all. There was a report of a magical attack but Arthur sends word it was a rumour gone wild. Or possibly a hoax. He's staying for a few days to make sure. Things are quiet so he's taking the opportunity to give the new Knights some air."

"Well then, shall we go? The works of Hippocrates will have to wait."

Merlin nodded and followed Uther through the bustling corridors of an ordinary Camelot day and into the throne room. Uther walked up and took his seat without a word or an ounce of hesitation. Even though he was representing Arthur, Merlin took a position to the right of the King instead of sitting on his throne.

"Well then," Uther said, "I believe we have a petition."

"Yes, My Lord," a calm voice said from the back of the room. "We do."

Merlin started and took a step forward, trying to see where the familiar sound had come from. He looked at the room, the assembled citizens, at Uther who could see him from his vantage point and he paused for a second before deciding the revealing spell was a necessary risk.

Even as his eyes flashed gold, a woman walked forward from the crowd, pulling the hood of her cloak back from her pitch-black hair and a knife from her pocket.

"In the last few seconds of your life, Uther, I hope you realise that no magic was ever needed to bring you down."

And she plunged the blade through Uther's heart.

In the stunned silence that followed, Morgana turned to a shell-shocked Merlin and said only, "I know that you can never forgive me for this. But I did it for you as much as for myself. Now we can all breathe."

With a brilliant maelstrom of light and earth she was gone and Uther was dead in a pool of blood on the throne room floor.


	100. Chapter 100

**My name is Morgana**

My name is Morgana. I am many things. Others may begin a self-reflection of this kind with their parents, their rank, their role, their philosophy. I do not have these to draw upon.

My parents died: my mother in childbirth, my father in battle fighting to defend Uther's kingdom from Uther's enemies. I am, I suppose of noble birth, and had my parents lived I would have had a role befitting my rank within their household. In this Kingdom, I have neither.

As for my philosophy... I cannot as yet say. The world I live in is wrong but I cannot yet tell you what to do about that. I still do not know how it is I am supposed to live my life. In many ways, I am now a woman. In others, I am still a child.

I am standing today at my open window overlooking the courtyard. I stand here frequently. I watch the comings and goings of the town; the purposeful strides of the common folk, the meanderings of the nobility. I remember entering this courtyard myself: ten years old, confused, frightened and oblivious. How kind Uther was, I heard, to take in the orphaned child of his oldest friend. For this, it was implied, I should cease to be a child. Cease to be a person at all. For this, I should be gratitude. Permanent and unwavering gratitude.

It was only later I discovered that with me came my father's lands and rents and serfs and fields. They are Uther's until I wed. It is unsurprising then that the word 'marriage' has not yet been mentioned. Those lands will buy something greater than their value when the time comes I'm sure. Uther will not squander them wantonly.

I look out my window at the people below. Today, the great and the good of Camelot have gathered to be neither. Today there is an execution. Another woman's son is to be killed for the crime of magic.

I cannot tell you why I do not ask Uther to move my chambers so I cannot see the courtyard; cannot see this carnage. Maybe in a way I need this reminder. When Uther is kind and agreeable and fatherly, when his obvious affection for me is at its most obvious, I can look out on the seething mass of dreadful humanity below me, glorying in the spectacle, and remember. And shudder.

The executioner brings down his axe in several uncoordinated blows and the head finally tears from the neck and falls into the basket below. The crowd cheers as though a beast has been slain by glorious Knights; as though a demon has been purged from their midst. I struggle to remember what this poor soul's crime had actually been. There had been an upsurge in magic use lately and a subsequent brutal crackdown on the crimes.

Was this the man who had tried to procure a potion to save his wife and child from dying from an illness? The one who had turned to sorcery to treat a festering wound that had stopped him working? Or the one who had sheltered a distant and elderly family member only to be executed when they discovered she had been marked for death from the early days of the purge?

Despite all the things I loved about Camelot, loved about my life, this ugliness mars it permanently. This is the brutality I want to stop. Uther, I was able to admit in my more honest moments, could be a wonderful man – as long as you played the role he expected of you. He even tolerated, no admired, my temper and my determination to argue with him. He was a Pendragon. They admired the strength of the beast for which they were named. Never mind that the beast's main characteristic was stubbornness.

I imagined my life if I had magic or was driven to use it. I imagined my life if my nightmares were found to be more than the dark, garbled images that came to me in my sleep. I imagined my fear. The subtle foot tread. The midnight knock at the door. I was glad that I would never be plagued by that terror. I was glad I was not like the people in the courtyard below. But that did not mean I could not be driven to help them; could not hate their treatment at the hands of those with a different kind of power.

I sweep the crowd with my sad and distant eyes, wondering for a moment if there is anyone there who feels as I do; anyone who is not cheering another pointless death. I see a vaguely-familiar black-haired boy hovering at the edge of the swarm; his face as haunted by the spectacle as mine undoubtedly is.

I struggle to place him but can't. Even with his distinctive skinniness, big ears and rough clothing, I can't quite remember where I've seen him before. He's obviously a servant of some kind. I've probably seen him a hundred times and never noticed.

There's a noise at my door and my servant Guinevere enters the room; her calm smile and simple joy in life distracting me from my thoughts. There's a feast tonight and the afternoon will be spent in preparing myself.

Gwen is already laying out dresses and I smile at the thought of the pleasant afternoon ahead. The distraction could not be better timed.

I turn from the window and dive into the responsibilities of beauty. My mind stays briefly on the gaunt and poignant eyes of the skinny man in the crowd. But then he's forgotten. I have more important things to do.

My name is Morgana. Who am I? I don't know yet. But maybe, one day, I'll find out. Maybe, one day, I'll be known for something more than how I look in jewels and fur. Maybe, one day, I will find my place. Maybe, one day, I will change this world. Maybe even for the better.

* * *

**And that's all folks. The end, as they say, is the beginning. Stay tuned for some final notes and the contents list.**


	101. Chapter 101

**A/N Wow, I just... I'm speechless. For someone who's written more than 110,000 words, that's quite a feat. I can't believe this is over. I feel a little empty I'll admit and desperately insecure that overall it just doesn't stack up. But I personally believe this is one of the most epic, most comprehensive things I've ever written.**

**Now that it's all over I can make something else explicit. This is now officially part of a trilogy that starts with A Lion and a Unicorn and ends with A Haunted Lake. I always thought in my own mind that that's where this tale ended up but it's only when finishing this story that I decided to make it clear. The trilogy is admittedly loosely-linked but in many ways make a coherant single story overall.**

**Below is the contents list to help orient you while you're reading ALiM. Once again, please please consider reading this in the order in which it's written. But if you can't cope with the multiple story lines, you can read it chronologically. **

**Thank you to everyone who's made this worthwhile: Brickroad16, GuildedDragonfly (wherever she may be), Catindahat, Whirlwind421, Eidolon02 (whose honest and comprehensive reviews got me through the last leg), Elin Marc. Ground (who still hasn't registered after all these years), Terapsina, fire dragonheart (in all your strange monosyllabism), Kizzia, zammierox, n.I.n.A. v.A.p.I.r.A (whenever she drops by), LifetimePasserby (who takes the name seriously), Admiral Lily and a dozen other people who've popped in and out over the last 18 months.**

**Thank you all so much. Mnem**

* * *

**ALiM Contents List**

ALaaU starts during an AU season 3 that came after a cherry-picked season 2 that included everything up to episode 7 and then Lady in the Lake and Sweet Dreams. It's kind of the same AU that 'Twelve Days of Christmas is set in'. That means that ALaaU is set between two and three years after Merlin arrived in Camelot and took place over about three months. So, one year after the end of ALaaU is four years after the beginning of the series.

Before ALaaU

Chapter 100 My Name is Morgana

Chapter 63 Parents

Chapter 67 Plea

Chapter 69 Mordred

During ALaaU

Chapter 28 Envy

Chapter 5 Romantics of a different kind

Chapter 13 I thought you'd died and gone away

Chapter 65 My name is Gaius

A few weeks to a few months after the end of ALaaU

Chapter 10 Doubt

Chapter 8 The plan

Chapter 39 The Servant's Servant

Chapter 23 Childhood sweetheart

Chapter 14 I hate this plan

Chapter 18 My name is Uther

Chapter 27 Phase one

Chapter 21 Would you dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?

Six months after ALaaU

Chapter 12 Locking the door Part 1

Chapter 17 Locking the door Part 2

Chapter 42 The Innocents of Camelot Part 2

Around one year after ALaaU

Chapter 1 Domestic bliss

Chapter 88 Cracks Part 1

Chapter 19 Locking the Door Part 3

Chapter 26 Destiny and other immaterial things

Between one and two years after ALaaU

Chapter 30 Blue sky days

Chapter 11 Normality

Chapter 32/33 Revelations Part 1 and 2

Chapter 38 Trust

Chapter 58 Merlin saves Arthur, The Abridged Version Part 1

Chapter 62 Merlin saves Arthur, The Abridged Version Part 2

Chapter 66 Merlin saves Arthur, The Abridged Version Part 3

Chapter 70 Merlin saves Arthur, The Abridged Version Part 4

Chapter 37 The Innocents of Camelot Part 1

Chapter 25 Locking the door Part 4

Chapter 34 Influence

Chapter 41 Love and marriage and other oxymorons

Chapter 40 Plague

Chapter 89 Cracks Part 2

Around two years after ALaaU

Chapter 43 Third Way

Chapter 90 Cracks Part 3

Chapter 4 A detour through the ridiculous

Chapter 20 Temptation

Chapter 22 Two of a kind

Chapter 59 What you wished for Part 1

Chapter 60 What you wished for Part 2

Chapter 15 Evil disappearing cat

Between two and three years after ALaaU

Chapter 68 Pragmatism

Chapter 91 Cracks Part 4

Chapter 35 A letter

Chapter 3 A wander through the past

Chapter 36 The offer

Chapter 61 The Innocents of Camelot Part 3

Chapter 31 Locking the door Part 5

Three years after ALaaU

Chapter 2 The Bet

Chapter 16 Camelot's hero

Chapter 9 Drunks

Chapter 29 The hero and the bully

Chapter 64 Dreams

Between three and four years

Chapter 92 Cracks Part 5

Chapter 93 Cracks Part 6

Chapter 45-49 Mercia cycle

Chapter 50 Tea and Sympathy

Chapter 51-55 The mistakes we make part 1-5

Chapter 44 Destiny

Chapter 56 The mistakes we make part 6

Chapter 57 Falling Action

Chapter 82 My Name is Vidor

Chapter 72 Grief Part 1

Chapter 73 Grief Part 2

Chapter 7 A Plan

Chapter 24 The Pretender Prince

Four years after ALaaU

Chapter 74 Excalibur Part 1

Chapter 75 Excalibur Part 2

Chapter 76 Excalibur Part 3

Chapter 77 Excalibur Part 4

Chapter 78 Excalibur Part 5

Chapter 81 Lineage

Chapter 79 Excalibur Part 6

Chapter 80 Excalibur Part 7

Chapter 87 Zenith

Five years after ALaaU

Chapter 83 Decisions

Chapter 6 The end came too soon

Chapter 99 Unforgivable

Chapter 95 Schemes

Chapter 84 The Most Noble Order of the Knights of Camelot

The end

Chapter 97 Rebellion

Chapter 98 Dissonance

Chapter 71 The moment

Chapter 96 Ambivalence

Chapter 85 Warning

Chapter 86 The Former Innocents of Camelot


End file.
